Something There
by 74days
Summary: There is a serial killer roaming the State, and two bodies are found in the Little Town of Beacon Hills. Visiting the city to discuss the case with the FBI, John Stilinski - the local sheriff - becomes involved in a deal that will save his town, but only if he sends back the first thing he sees when he returns from his trip. Thinking it will be something simple, he agrees…
1. Chapter 1

Serial killers were something that grabbed headlines even in big cities. What they did to small towns was almost indescribable. Especially when not one, but **_two_** bodies were found in the same week. People were scared to leave their houses, calling the station for every bump in the dark they heard, convinced they were going to be the next victims.

John Stilinski was worried. Worried about his town and his community, but more worried for his wife and his sons. Mellissa worked nights at the hospital, leaving home in the darkness and coming home alone – he worried about her safety every night, and even started following her in his patrol car just to ensure that nothing happened. It showed just how bad things had gotten when she didn't accuse him of being too overprotective but smiled. "It's a weight off my mind." She sighed, kissing him on the cheek.

The boys too – were a worry. Jackson, oldest and by far the most confident, John worried that he would think he could 'handle' a situation and end up getting himself killed. The retired gym teacher they'd found hadn't been that old, still physically fit and old enough to know a few tricks – but the level of violence on his body had made John gag. Jackson was confident to the point of arrogance. John worried.

He worried about Scott too – because although he was young and fit, his asthma would stop him from running as fast or as far as he could, and John thought that as the middle son, he was always trying to stand out in some way from his brothers. He worried that Scott would end up like the boy they'd found, beaten to death after running for miles through the wooded reserve that curled around the town. Judging by the dirt they'd found on his shoes, he'd started at the north side. He'd been found only a few yards from his home. So near to help and yet… John worried about Scott, because he wouldn't be able to run so far before his lungs gave out. He wouldn't be able to fight.

And then there was Stiles. Stiles, who was the youngest by only 11 months – a running joke in town that there wasn't 2 years between the boys – but who thought he was invincible. John didn't put it past Stiles to try and **_find_** the monster that was doing these things. Seek him out and end up getting himself killed out of sheer hubris. John worried about Stiles more than anyone.

* * *

Stiles was bored. Jackson, his big brother – the bigger brother – was captain of the lacrosse team and overall total douchebag. All three Stilinski boys were on the team, but only one ever played – Jackson made sure that coach never picked his younger brothers to get off the bench.

"He's a douche." Stiles told Scott.

"Yeah." Scott sighed. He was nearer in age with Jackson than he was to Stiles, but much closer to his younger brother than his elder. Although Stiles should have been in the year **_below_** his brothers, he was moved up – because he was probably the closest thing to a genius that he could be with his attention span. "He's a dick."

Stiles nodded and glared at his big brother, currently grinning over at the stands after scoring yet another goal. "You ever get the feeling that they used up all the brawn on him and we got the leftovers?"

"He got the brawn, I got the beauty and you got the brains."

"Between us we can make one good person." Stiles nodded, then… "Wait! Are you saying I'm **_not_** attractive?"

"Stilinski!" Coach yelled, and three heads turned to face him. "Not you two!" He growled at the two boys on the bench. "You!" He pointed at Jackson, who was now flexing his muscles to the girls in the bleachers who swooned and fanned themselves. "Get back in position!"

"One day he's going to mean us." Scott said. "And we're going to get to play." He watched as their brother ran back – getting thumps on the back for his efforts.

"No one scores goals like Jackson." A girl behind them swooned.

"He's got muscles to spare." Another sighed. They were lucky Lydia had decided to skip this practice. Normally she'd stand behind them and cheer her boyfriend loudly, but today she was showing the new girl around.

"I'll break both his arms." Stiles supplied helpfully. "Can't play without arms – he'd **_have_** to use one of us."

"You always go right to violence, don't you?"

"Where Jackson is involved." Stiles smirked. "I think it's my **_duty_**."

* * *

Dinner in the Stilinski household was one of the things that made Stiles glad he hadn't been born into any other family. Their mom could cook, their dad could carve a roast like no one else – and every night they'd talk about whatever crossed their minds. The last couple of weeks though, their dad had been later and later home. Tonight, he wouldn't be back at all.

Stiles stabbed Jackson in the thigh with his fork when his older brother tried to steal the last of the roast potatoes, resulting in a punch to the arm that their mom saw. Luckily for Stiles she hadn't seen him stab his brother, so it was Jackson who got yelled at.

"You're dead, Maggot." Jackson hissed. "Just you wait."

"Puh-lee-se!" Stiles replied under his breath. "Remember what happened last time to started a war with me?" He could tell by the haunted look that crossed his brothers face that he did. Jackson was bigger and better at most things. He won every trophy the school gave out in sports. He was captain of the Lacrosse, Swim and Cross Country teams.

When it came to getting even though – Stiles won every time. Nair in the shampoo, itching powder in the underwear – deep heat in the jockstrap and so many more… People learned pretty quickly not to mess with Stiles Stilinski.

"When's dad getting back?" Scott asked, working his way through his over loaded plate.

"I'm not sure." Their mom sighed. "He promised he'd be back before you boys got to bed though, so remember, lock the doors and check th-"

"The windows twice." Stiles and Jackson sang together. It was a constant reminder each night. They knew it off by heart.

"Once when I leave!" Scott intoned.

"And then before bed!" Jackson added.

"Or the killer will come in and cut off your-"

"Stiles!"

* * *

Stiles shared a room with Scott because the although they kept meaning to convert the attic into a proper room, it never happened. Stiles didn't mind too much, Scott was more like his best friend than his brother. Tonight though, he wished him about a million miles away.

"She's got brown hair, and it kinda curls down." He was saying. "And when the light hits it…" He sighed.

"I was there."

"I offered her my pen because she didn't have one."

"I remember."

"She smiled at me."

"It was probably gas." Stiles shot back. There had been a new girl at school, and she sat behind Scott in history, which Stiles knew because he sat **_beside_** Scott in history. Scott seemed to have forgotten this in his new lovelorn haze. He seemed to have forgotten everything.

"Did you see how she knew the answers?" Scott sighed. "She's really smart too."

"I'm so glad to see that you're looking deeper than her complexion." Stiles sighed, going back to his computer.

"Her skins pretty good too though." Scott supplied. "She smiles like a nice person."

"So does Lydia." Stiles supplied. "Doesn't mean she's nice." Lydia Martin was probably the only person Stiles had even met who was probably smarter than he was. She was perfect in every way but one. She was dating Jackson.

"I think I saw Lydia talking to her."

**_Her_**. Her was the new girl, love of Scott's young life. Princess Charming to his Cinder-fella.

Stiles though, had more on his mind than his brothers and their love lives. There was a serial killer on the loose, and Stiles was going to make sure he was the one that found him. He'd already used his dads password – Password123. Really? He almost deserved to get hacked with that – to get all the relevant information, and he'd been hanging around the station long enough to know what people were talking about. He was the only one of the Stilinski boys who really cared about police work. Jackson was hoping to become a lawyer – making money from the misfortunes of others was totally his thing, Scott hadn't given any inclination that he'd even thought about his future, and Stiles was secretly hoping to become a superhero. If that didn't work out he was totally going to become a writer. Or an analyst for the FBI. He could totally rock the Garcia look. He looked good in glasses – and sass suited him.

However, right now, there was a serial killer on the loose and **_Stiles_** was so going to be the one that found him. Or her. Or them. **_Them_** would be cool. **_Them_** would explain the over-the-top violence and ability to chase a person on foot for miles.

So he looked into the other deaths. The girl who was found in Portland with the 'almost swastika' cut into her side. The old man in Nevada with the same carving – almost missed because of the amount of other cuts and slashes on his body. Stiles had done some research on the symbol, and the closest thing he could find was a triskelion – expect those were normally rounded. These ones, the ones on the bodies, were sharp. Stiles read the report from the police station – they thought that the edges should have been curved like the traditional triskelion, made jagged by the cuts of the knife, but Stiles thought differently.

Stiles thought they were **_supposed_** to be hard lines, straight and jagged. Other cuts had shown that the killer (or killers) were more than able to use a blade to carve a curve, but they'd kept this one mark hard and harsh. Stiles wondered if it might be a cult. Which was **_awesome_**.

* * *

John Stilinski came home to find his wife already away to work, and his sons still awake. Jackson wasn't happy about the curfew, because he couldn't hang out with his girlfriend – a firecracker of a girl who was probably more trouble than she seemed, so he didn't get a greeting from him when he opened the door. Scott normally didn't even hear him get home, too busy apply all his might to some homework – when did kids get so much homework? It seemed like it was never done – but Stiles, of course, leapt down the stairs two at a time, almost landing face first at his feet.

"Hey dad!" He grinned, too wide. Damn. He'd probably spent the night going on the internet and not looking at porn like any normal teenage boy. "How was work?"

"Long." John grunted. "Did your mom leave anything for me?"

"There's a plate in the microwave," Stiles supplied hastily, "Did you find anything else out?"

John knew that dumping his day on his youngest son wasn't the right thing to do, but if he was being honest, sometimes the kids was a lightning bolt in the brain – he said things and thought differently, and sometimes he'd be right on the money. Which was how they'd managed to find out about those break-ins a few months ago.

So he found himself telling Stiles about how the FBI were coming, and setting up base in the nearby city – he'd be leaving in the morning to listen to the profile they were setting up.

"Sweet!" Stiles grinned, drinking everything in.

* * *

It was raining, that hard constant rain that flooded the roads in a few moments and made driving in the darkness even more dangerous. The FBI meeting had been… interesting. Stiles probably would have loved it. They talked about the suspects supposed ages – it was a belief that they were working with a couple or even team of people now. He had used the handheld recorder to tape the meeting, and had it playing in his car as he drove.

They showed them on the large screen the different depth and strengths of the killing blows, highlighting that some wounds were left handed and other sloped to the right. The other wounds, the bite marks… he shuddered behind the wheel.

"_It is our belief that these assailants are travelling together with a large cat – possibly a cougar or mountain lion. The bite and tearing are similar to what you may see in attacks by feral or rabid animals. The fact that they are comfortable enough to travel with an animal like this is more proof that we are dealing with more than one person. It would take a great deal of manpower to control an animal like this – especially to get one to stop feeding. It is also an option that they are using a pack of wild dogs – or fighting dogs. If you know of any dog fighting circuits, they may frequent there when arriving in a new place_."

People had been taking notes like crazy, there was just so much to take in. He sighed behind the wheel, trying to keep his eyes open. It had been a long day, and the storm wasn't helping.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky – highlighting everything on the road in a stark, painful brightness – and a hunched figure in the road.

Slamming on the breaks, john felt the car skid on the wet road, tires gaining no traction on the slippery surface and spinning helplessly out of his control, before leaving the road entirely and slamming into a tree. The last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness was a pair of bright red eyes coming towards him…

* * *

**_Happy Monday!_**

**_I'm starting a new Sterek story for Teenwolf based of a prompt I got from The Wonderful Mistique - They asked for a Beauty and the Beast style story, with Derek as the Beast (of course!)_**

**_Rather than go with the Disney version though, I'm taking a few liberties from the classic La Belle et la Bête tale, which had a few notable differences, and adding in a couple of smaller prompts from others that were more 'scenes we want to see' rather than whole stories. _**

**_Thanks for all the great feedback that I got from 'Reason For Call' and for all the prompts and ideas that you sent me! I don't think I'll ever run out of ideas for new stories for a long time :)_**

**_Also, for those that asked, I've *just* finished season 6 of Supernatural and am starting season 7 tonight. I wasn't super thrilled with season 6 (as you may know if you've been reading my stuff before) and I REALLY wasn't happy with the ending. AT ALL._**

**_I say NO. If you want it in Spanish? NOH!_**

**_If you are coming to this via the other stuff I've written – Hey! Hope you like this one!_**

**_If you've never read anything I've done before – Hey! Don't be scared to say Hi :)_**

**_As normal – bmwiid on twitter and bmwiid on tumblr! Let me know what you think._**


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that John Stilinski saw when he opened his eyes was the warm glow thrown off a log burning fire. It warmed his wet skin, making his clothes uncomfortable as they clung to his body.

"Where am I?" He asked, but there was no answer. He was laying down on a large leather couch, much larger than anything he'd seen before. When he push himself to a seated position, his head started to swim violently and he let out a groan. Once the spots had faded from his vision, he took at better look around.

The room was large, and the only light was the yellow flicker from the fireplace that took up a large part of the wall. There was a table strewn with papers, and beside the overlarge couch, there was a smaller side table with a glass of water and a couple of painkillers – he swallowed them before thinking about the dangers of strange pills.

"Hello?" He called out, voice not as strong as he would have liked. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was no reply.

* * *

Stiles was worried about his dad, because he should have been back hours ago. "The rain is bad, Stiles." His mom soothed. "Think about it, the phone lines are down and the roads are treacherous." She handed him another wet dish to dry. "I personally hope he's decided to spend the night somewhere rather than try to drive in this."

"I just don't like that he's not called."

"The lines are down, Stiles." She pointed out.

That wasn't what bothered Stiles the most. His dad had the police radio in his car – and he knew that Stiles would have been listening on the police scanner he kept hidden under the bed that neither of them acknowledged. His dad hadn't even radioed the station.

"Look, why don't you go upstairs and play some overly-violent video games with your brother?" His mom suggested. "It'll take your mind off it."

* * *

The house was deserted. John had looked everywhere he could. Most of the doors were locked, but even so, he could tell the house was enormous. Probably more like a mansion or one of the 'cribs' that Jackson was always watching on MTV (when did they stop showing music videos?).

It was decorated with old, heavy furniture and dark woods – wide doors and massive staircases, but it was empty. Deserted but well maintained – who ever had brought him here had obviously left. His head was hurting less, probably the result of the painkillers, and the longer he explored, the more concerned he got.

The house was huge. A building like this didn't just get built overnight without people knowing – and going from the view out of the massive windows, it was in the reserve. Planning permission for something like this would be argued over for generations. It wasn't a new house.

People don't just forget about mansions in the wild. A place like this would have attracted a lot of attention. People in Town would know about it, there would be rumours and tall tales and more than likely horror stories about the abandoned mansion in the woods. Kids would be forever trying to break in. So why the hell had he never heard about it before?

"Hello?" He asked, looking around again for any sign of life. "Thank you for your help, but I really need to get back to my family." His words echoed around the huge hallway, candlelight flickering. "They'll be worried."

When no one answered, he sighed, and walked back to the room he'd woken up in. Going by the size of the other rooms, he figured this wasn't even considered a room but a waiting area.

He was walking back to the couch when something on the table caught his eye.

Papers, spread out everywhere, obviously someone had left in a rush. He looked around carefully to see if he was being watched, and pushed back a corner of notes to get a better look at what caught his attention.

It was a mark he'd seen a lot of – carved into the bodies of victims. The triskelion. There were two, one soft and flowing, curved and almost gentle, and another – hard and harsh, made with jagged lines.

Hastily, he grabbed the papers, folding them and hiding them in the inside pocket of his damp clothes, praying that they wouldn't get ruined. Years of training in the police force were the only thing keeping him calm – he may have been 'rescued' by the serial killers. Perhaps this was where they had taken the boy Mathew, kept him here and then forced him to run through the forest until he could run no more.

Did they keep dogs on the grounds? Was that why they'd found these markings on his body? Would anyone ever find him in the miles of uncharted reserve that surrounded his Little Town of Beacon Hills. He didn't stop taking the papers off the table until there were none left, and decided to make his move. If he left now, they may not know. He would be able to get a head start on them. He could escape.

* * *

John managed to get to the large iron gates that surrounded the house before he realised he'd made a terrible mistake. Almost as soon as he left the house he felt a deep sense of dread well up in his stomach and when his hand touched the iron gate – locked, of course! – he heard a howl between the thunder of the rain. A flash of lightning struck a tree on the other side of the gate and exploded – bark and wood flying in all directions. He flatted his back against the gate… and found himself face to face with a man he had never seen before.

"You!" The man roared, easily heard over the storm that was raging around them. "How dare you steal from me!"

For a moment, John Stilinski forgot that he was an officer of the law, and found himself terrified that this wild man was going to kill him.

"I don't know what you are talking about." He managed in a shaking voice.

"You stole papers from my home, after I saved your life! This is how you repay me?" His voice was loud and terrifying, and John felt himself panic.

"I didn't know!" He gasped, "I'm a police officer – I saw the notes and I think they can-"

"Silence!" The wild man roared, voice bouncing around the courtyard. "You have shown the kind of man you are. Give me back my papers."

"I need them for a-"

"You need them? Well, that's makes it all okay, doesn't it? You need them, so you just took them?"

"Maybe we can have this conversation inside?" Another voice said, and for the first time, John noticed that they were not alone. Teenagers, probably not that much older than his own boys, stood behind the dark headed and furious man. The blond girl had spoken – she was not dressed for the weather, only wearing a thin nightdress – but wasn't shivering like he was.

"Good idea." The man growled. "Throw him in the cellar. He'll see how we deal with thieves and liars."

* * *

John shivered in the cellar, cold and wet. The papers had been taken from him and he was now aware of the real danger he was in. No one knew where he was. The car on the road may not be noticed for days – if the owner of the house hadn't already had it removed from sight.

"What were you thinking!" He hissed to himself, pacing back and forward.

"Good question." A male voice said from the door. John stopped and stared. He hadn't even heard the door unlock. "What kind of idiot steals from somewhere like this?"

"I wasn't thinking."

"Obviously." The boy was tall, and with the candlelight shining behind him, his blond hair was like a halo around his head. "Pretty stupid thing to do."

"I just want to go home." John said, "I gave back the papers, please. I've got a wife. Kids."

"He might make a deal." The boy mused. "He likes deals."

"Anything!" John said, without thinking.

* * *

"The first thing you see when you drive into your little town." The man said, "Or you'll find yourself back in the cellar."

John nodded. The first thing he saw would probably something stupid, a stray dog or cat. "Deal."

"We will know." The man warned. "If you try to cheat me a second time I will not be as forgiving."

Panic, pain and exhaustion mixed in his mind, and John nodded. "You have my word," he said, before something was held over his mouth and the world went black

* * *

He awoke in his car, warm and dry, with the sweet smell of Chloroform lingering on his skin. It was bright daylight and the sun had dried the road so it looked like it had never been raining. They'd drugged him! He didn't waste time starting the engine, pulling out onto the road and driving as fast as possible away from whatever the hell was going on in that mad house. The longer he drove, the more unbelievable it all seemed. They'd thrown him in a basement – almost a damn dungeon! He was a cop! As soon as he got back to the station, he was going to find out what the hell was going on in that place – where that place even was.

Someone was going to pay.

He'd only just passed the sign 'Welcome to Beacon Hills, Be Our Guest!' when he saw his youngest son walking by the side of the road, hands in his pockets. For a moment, the sheriff was annoyed – trust Stiles to end upon the side of the damn road – and then the agreement he'd made with that crazy guy in the house came rushing to the front of his mind. _The first thing you see when you drive into your little town._

Stiles. His boy.

* * *

_** Just a short chapter for you all.**_

_**I was super busy today and wasn't able to get the 2k I was hoping for, so I'm sorry. I thought I'd post this rather than leave you a full day without any updates! I'll also try to get another chapter out tomorrow, but I don't know, as I'm pretty booked all day! :s**_

_**Why is having a life so time consuming? Don't people know I've got a fanfic to write?!**_

_**For those that asked, the Classic tale of Beauty and the Beast had a merchant with three lovely daughters. Oh, and well done to those that noticed the 'Gaston' reference I threw in there ;)**_


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had to share the Jeep with Scott because although both his parents worked, having a household with 5 cars just wasn't possible. They had the patrol car – technically not theirs, but after a while it just…was – the sedan that mom used, and the Jeep.

Jackson got the sedan when he needed a car. He wasn't super thrilled about driving in what he classed as 'no better than a minivan' but he'd rather be driving about in that than be seen dead in the Jeep. Even Scott didn't like the Jeep much, which suited Stiles fine, because he loved it.

Loved it when it worked. Not so much when it broke down on the side of the road when he was trying to drive out of town to check his dad hadn't come off the road.

Because when the engine had thudded to a halt, that's what he'd been doing. Driving out to make sure his dad wasn't stuck in a ditch somewhere – or worse.

"Great." He groaned, standing at the side of the road and kicking the tire out of sheer frustration. He'd been saving his allowance to get some new clothes – that Flash hoodie wasn't cheap – and now he was going to have to spend it getting the stupid Jeep fixed. No point in asking Scott to help out because even though the car was half his, he hardly ever used it and would start whining about how it 'wasn't fair'.

So when his dad pulled up – safe! – and saw the smoke coming out of the bonnet, his first words were:

"What the hell are you doing out here alone?"

* * *

John Stilinski prided himself on being a good man. Not always the world's most honest man – hell, you don't get to be the sheriff if you've not got a good poker face – but when he saw his youngest boy by the side of the road and all he could think about was the ultimatum that the dark haired man had growled at him… he started to plan.

There was no way he was going to send Stiles to that place. He didn't even know where that place was! No one could have expected him to see Stiles as soon as he drove into town.

"What the hell are you doing out here alone?" He snapped, once he'd pulled over.

"I was coming to look for you!" His youngest shot back, glaring at the Jeep like it had done him a personal injury. "You were gone all night, and you don't phone, so I was worried."

"You know that there is a serial killer out here!" John half yelled. "And you're just standing here in the middle of the road like a damn idiot."

He looked around, but the forest that surrounded the road was quiet and he could see no movement. Perhaps the man in the strange house wouldn't know… "Stiles, you need to get back to the house right away." He said, eyes darting towards the treeline.

"I can't." Stiles shrugged. "I told you I needed a new car, and look at this." He kicked the tyre again. "The tow truck is coming though." He added.

* * *

Stiles could count the amount of times his dad got really pissed at him on one hand, so the fact that he was being frogmarched back to his Jeep and crammed into the driver's seat came as a bit of a shock.

"You listen to me, for once in your life, Stiles!" His dad yelled. "You will not get out of this car for any reason."

"But-"

"Don't you even think about mouthing off!" His dad growled. "You do as you are told and when you get home you and I are going to have some serious words."

Stiles slumped back in the seat and sighed. 'Serious Words' meant he was grounded.

* * *

"A long time ago, before cars and computers and electricity, there was a rich merchant family who lived in the forests of the Valley. They were kind and noble and everyone who worked for them loved them a great deal.

They built schools for the children of their workers, and homes for their employees. They gave food to the hungry and shelter for the homeless and they were famous for their generosity."

Scott waved his hand dramatically over the bed. "This is where the kids will be doing their little acting for 'learning' and stuff." He coughed. "But one day, a wicked witch arrived, and saw how well loved the family was, and wanted their good fortune and wealth for herself.

The family were kind, but they were not foolish, and saw the wickedness in the witches heart, and hid their wealth away." He grinned, "And the kids will take all the stuff off the set, okay? And like, hide it. But there was a young boy, and in the nature of young boys, could not see past the beauty of the witch. She cast a spell on him that made him think of nothing but her – and used his youth and foolishness to convince him that she loved him more than the air she breathed." There was a pause. "I think they want to have like, an old hag or something all dressed up, casting a spell on one of the kids." He went back to his notes. "One night, under the cover of darkness, he led her to the great mansion in the woods. Being that she was a wicked, hateful person, she cast him into a deep sleep and stole in the house, searching for the hiding place.

But she found nothing – because the wealth and riches of the family were in their love and honesty for those around them."

Scott beamed at Stiles as they sat in the bedroom they shared. "What do you think?"

"Good for you." Stiles said, absently. The story was pretty common, most kids were taught it when they were in pre-school.

"Stiles, were you even paying attention?" Scott complained. "Look, I've got to get this right."

Scott was head of the Glee club, and every year they helped out at the local drama group for kids. This year, they were putting on a little play, and it was Scott's job as head of Glee, to do the narrative.

"No, it was really good." Stiles agreed. "I think the cauldron was a good touch,"

"What cauldron – Stiles! You're not paying any attention to me at all are you?"

"I'm too busy being grounded to care!" Stiles snapped. "I went out trying to be a good fucking kid and dad's gone and grounded me – indefinitely – for something that wasn't even my fault!"

Stiles glared at his brother who was normally awesome, but who was being about as supportive as a chocolate fireplace at that point. "You don't even care, dude! I'm grounded!"

"You've been grounded before."

"For legitimate reasons!" Stiles snapped. Yeah, the time with the exploding toilets was kinda his fault. And that time he put hair remover in Jacksons shampoo was worth the month he got – and even the beating Jackson laid on him – but this? This was totally unfair. "Breaking down isn't my fault. And you know I've got tickets for the club tonight! $45 a pop!"

"Ask dad if you can go." Scott shrugged. "He'll probably have calmed down by then." He grinned. "That new girl, Allison, she's going to be there."

"I'm so glad that my unfair imprisonment isn't affecting your desire to get laid."

* * *

The phone was ringing at his desk when John got back into work after making sure Stiles was safely in the house. He wasn't going to take the risk that something could happen to his boy.

"Sheriff Stilinski."

"We will collect on the deal tonight." John felt his skin become cold at the sound of the rough voice down the line. But he had a plan.

"Affirmative." He nodded. "Come to the station and you can pic-"

"No." The voice said, cutting him off. "We will collect. On the Road." And then the line went dead.

John ran a hand over his face, and let out a sigh. The first thing he'd done after making sure Stiles was at home was to go back out to the road. And sure enough, as soon as he got into town, he saw the stray dog he'd always expected to see first.

That dog was now happily chewing on the bone that he'd lured it into his car with, locked firmly in the cell. He'd take it out tonight, to the road, and leave it there with a note.

* * *

Stiles was totally sneaking out. He'd learned a long time ago with his dad that it was much easier to ask for forgiveness than permission and there was no way he'd spent $45 bucks just to let Jackson and Scott go without him.

Scott and Jackson had already left, leaving him saying goodbye to them at the door and giving off enough 'this is so unfairs' that he'd even got a little pat on the back from their mom.

"It disturbs me to see you like this, looking so down in the dumps. I'm sure he'll change his mind once he calms down." She smiled, handing him a crisp note. "Order in a pizza and treat yourself to some of the cookies I've managed to hide from your brothers in the bottom of the freezer."

Stiles felt guilty about that. To make up for it, he cleaned out the kitchen and put all the trash out before he went back up to his room and got changed into his best shirt – yeah, okay, it was still plaid, but it was new and he liked it – and waited until she drove off before he ran down the stairs and grabbed his coat.

* * *

The warehouse was packed by the times Stiles arrived, and the crowds of people outside who hadn't managed to get a ticket were offering stupid amounts of money as he walked past.

Warehouse was one of those places that overcharged everyone, where the music was too loud and the beer watered down – but they didn't look too closely at the fake-id's and everyone **_wanted_** in.

It was mostly dance or dubstep playing – the DJ was pretty good, and no one cared what you wore or how you danced. Stiles realised that he was totally into guys there, on the dance floor, when the nameless guy grinding up against him pulled him aside and kissed him up against the clammy brick wall.

Jackson had seen, and Stiles had expected him to be fucking relentless, but he'd actually been pretty cool about it, which had been surprising. Scott knew, although Stiles thought perhaps he may have known for longer than he let on. Stiles still had to tell his dad and mom, but figured that they would be okay… he just wasn't ready to tell them just yet.

The music was loud and he couldn't find his brothers in the packed room when he felt someone push against his body.

"Hey." A voice purred behind him. He turned to see probably one of the best looking girls in the room leaning into his personal space. She was blond, one of those really bouncy haired blonds, with lazy curls that swayed in time with her movements. She was wearing a pair of black jeans that could have been painted on and a bright red top that plunged deeply, revealing enough cleavage to make Stiles doubt his sexuality for a moment.

"Hey." He smiled.

"I'm Erica."

"I'm Stiles." She was pressing closer and closer into him, and although it was nice to get noticed, he wasn't feeling particularly comfortable with her smile. She moved forward as she talked, forcing him back – it was either that or have her smash against his body.

"Well, hey." She said, white teeth glinting in the darkened room. "We're here to pick you up."

It wasn't until she moved slightly to the left that Stiles saw the two guys she was obviously with. They were tall, but that was about all they had in common. One was thin and wiry, with a halo of blond curls around his head – cheekbones that could have been cut from pale cream marble. The other was large, built like a football quarterback with dark skin that seemed to shine under the strobe lights.

"Um, I'm actually good here." Stiles grinned, panic itching under his skin and tightening his lungs. "I've just arrived. I'm here with my brothers."

"You're dad told us to come pick you up." She smiled. It wasn't particularly friendly.

"My dad doesn't know I'm here." Stiles said without thinking. Fuck. "I mean, my dad knows I'm here and he wouldn't have sent you to get me."

"Put it like this, Stiles Stilinski, son of John Stilinski," She said, leaning close. "You either come with us, or our boss finds out that your dad was going to try to trick him."

"That won't end well for your father." The blond said, shaking his head sadly.

"He's already tried to steal from him." The larger boy said, voice deep and menacing.

"That didn't end well." Erica sighed. "So how about you don't make a fuss and we'll tell our boss that your dad doesn't need to be… **_taught a lesson_**."

Stiles nodded. There was no way he was going to take the risk that something could happen to his dad. "I'll come." He nodded. "Please, I don't know what is going on, but please don't hurt my dad."

"Follow me." She smiled, and Stiles – head down – did what he was told.

* * *

**_Hi Guys!_**

**_Sorry for not updating yesterday, but I was super busy watching 8 episodes of season 7 of Supernatural. So far I miss Cas and don't really know how I feel about the whole general plot. I'm sure it'll pick up though – and will end up making numerous 'Dick' jokes. _**

**_I've got a leaving party for one of my colleagues tonight, we are all going out to the pub for a curry night! :D Really looking forward to it – although I'll be sad that she's leaving. _**

**_Hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you started following me on Tumblr - I know some of you did because I followed you back! – don't ever be afraid of asking me questions or making requests for things you'd like to see in the story, I'm always open to ideas!_**

**_Well, I'd better go get ready – I can hear a Balti and rice calling my name!_**


	4. Chapter 4

There was a car waiting outside the Warehouse when Stiles was ushered outside. A sleek black muscle car that normally would have drawn some attention if it wasn't for the arrival of the bright red jaguar that Lydia Martin showed up in. Jackson's girlfriend was pretty much the only girl Stiles had ever thought was perfect, but her dating his big brother completely fucked his chances of her ever seeing him as a viable boyfriend.

He was 'helped' into the backseat of the car, which was actually a little more spacious that he'd expected – although it got rather more cramped when the guys who had been flanking him climbed in beside him.

Stiles was the meat in a rather intimidating sandwich. The girl climbed into the driver's seat and revved the engine, lights coming on and the radio playing loudly – some pop song about girl power that made the two guys he was sitting between roll their eyes.

"Seriously, Erica?" The blond guy complained. "Again?"

"Shut it, Isaac." She grinned, and in the rear-view mirror Stiles saw her white teeth as she smiled. "This is my song." With that, she roared the car to life and pulled away from the sidewalk, car hardly making a sound as it got going, and aside from a smooth rumble, Stiles would never have known that they were even moving.

Leaving.

And no one knew where he was.

* * *

If there was a list of stupid ideas that Stiles had, sneaking out when he was grounded didn't even scratch the surface. In fact, it was probably the least stupid thing he'd done, and now it was turning out to be the worst mistake of his life. These people were more than likely serial killers – the ones that had been travelling all over the country slaughtering innocent people.

He was going to die, and it was all his fault.

"So I take it… this is where you tell me that you're going to kill me?" He tried, because, hey – he might as well be going to die, but he wasn't going out quietly.

"Kill you?" The blond boy said beside him, sounding slightly surprised. "After everything we've done to get you?" He laughed. "Please. If we wanted to kill you, we'd have just left you in the club and let the-"

"We're getting to the limits." Erica cut him off, voice sharper than it had been, hardly a trace of the sensual purr that she'd been talking with earlier.

Stiles saw, through the light cast by the headlights of the car, the sign that told them they were leaving Beacon Hills – Come Again Soon! – and then suddenly, she switched off the lights – speeding down the unlit road without a care.

"Holy shit." Stiles whined, as she took a corner that was dangerous in the daylight, never mind the pitch black. The larger boy, who had remained mostly silent, moved then, and Stiles saw the cloth in his hand before he pressed it over his mouth – sweet smelling and sharp at the same time, it was going to make him sneeze but… but…

The driver of the car grinned when she saw his head slump forward, completely unconscious. "Okay, let's get this show… off the road."

* * *

Stiles woke up on the floor of what probably was someone's basement. Which was so not cool and slightly terrifying that he couldn't help the squeak that escaped his lips. Being locked in basements was pretty much the start of most horror movies. He was **_so_** dead. He checked his pockets, searching for something that could help him, but he had nothing. His phone had been taken – he prayed that whoever it was had just turned it off rather than take out the battery, because even with the phone off there could be a GPS location thrown off by it.

The things you learn when watching NCIS, he thought to himself. His dad was a police officer. No matter what, this would become a major manhunt, because you don't go after the families of cops.

Stiles just had to wait it out and they would find him. They would. He just had to remain calm.

He could hear something, far enough away that he couldn't really make it out, but it sounded like an argument. Raised voices at least, he was sure. He crept up and listened at the door, trying not to make a sound as he moved – even his heart sounded like it was going to jump through his chest.

"No!" He heard, roared so loud that it felt like the building vibrated with it. "And that is final!"

There was a slam, a crash – and then, in the distance, a howl. Stiles swallowed. Whatever was going on in this place, he was so fucked.

A few moments later, he heard something else, something closer – footsteps on the floor near the door. He scrambled back, trying to make no sound, and looking around for somewhere to hide. Unlike real people's homes, this basement was completely empty. It looked much more like the perfect killing space – somewhere to chop up a body night and neatly. Stiles swallowed hard – he really needed to stop watching horror movies. If he lived, he was going to make sure he watched every Disney film ever made, and burn his copies of slasher flicks.

He heard a key turn in the lock, and the door swung open. The girl – Erica – stood there, looking seriously pissed off about something.

"So… here." She snapped, holding out a tray with a glass of water and what looked like a sandwich. "It's not much but… yeah." She glared over her shoulder. "Some total **_assholes_**," She yelled the last word down the hallway she'd come, "think that it's best for you just to stay here." She paused. "Like a fucking **_criminal_**."

Stiles cringed as her voice echoed around the room.

"Seriously. Fucking dick." She looked at Stiles then, and cleared her throat. "I mean, yeah, it's totally great here, you should stay." She put the tray down with a forced smile. "Welcome to your new home."

"People are going to be looking for me."

"We know." She shrugged. "We're not worried, if they can find us, they'll be the first."

"How many people have you kidnapped and kept locked away?"

"Oh, well…" She shrugged. "You're kinda the first, but don't worry. Once the boss calms down I'm sure he'll be totally prepared to let you out and into like… a real room or whatever. He's not a total asshole when he's calm."

"Yeah, I think I'd rather go home."

"A deal is a deal, I'm afraid."

"I didn't make a deal!"

"Your dad did though, and he didn't think it through first – a typical mistake when trying to save your own life."

"You were going to kill my dad?" Stiles asked, not really understanding what was going on, but knowing that there was no way he was going to do something stupid if it resulted in his dad getting hurt – or worse.

"Not me!" Erica said, stepping back from the tray. "You'd better eat this. Boss isn't too happy about you being here at all – it's not what he expected – but… like I said, a deal is a deal, and you've got to honour it."

"If he doesn't want me here, why doesn't he just let me go?"

Erica looked at the door and frowned. "If I said: _It's complicated_, then that'd just be the start."

"I promise I won't tell a soul, if you let me go."

"Yeah, because it's hard to talk when your lungs aren't in your body." She said, frowning at him.

* * *

When she left, Stiles ate the sandwich and drank the water. The food was bland and tasteless – really, white bread and chicken strips? – but at least it was something.

The room was dark, but there was enough light to see by, because of the barred window near the ceiling. Stiles could see some grass growing high on the glass, so assumed that the window was at ground level. And it was daylight shining through.

He'd already tried to get up and take a look out, but window was set too high and there was nothing to stand on. It didn't matter. It was daylight.

His parents weren't going to rest until they found him.

* * *

Stiles wasn't sure just how much time was passing, because his phone was gone and he didn't wear a watch, but it felt like hours later when the door re-opened.

There was a man there, who Stiles hadn't seen. He had dark hair and stubble across a hard jaw, and thick eyebrows that made him look more intimidating. He wore a pair of black jeans and a grey Henley shirt, stained with… something. He looked like he was going to stink. Stiles swallowed, hard.

"You will join me for dinner." He growled, and his voice made the hairs on the back of Stiles neck stand up. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't like the others, with their spotless clothing and their obviously high standard of personal hygiene.

"You know, I'm actually good here." He managed to say, backing away. This guy looked like he was about to kill him, he sure as hell didn't want to be included in the list of things on the menu.

"Please." He spat out, and yeah, Stiles was about three seconds away from trying to scale the wall at the other side of the room at that – the guy was managing to throw off an air of total fury that was making Stiles feel like at any moment his skull and spine were about to become trophies on this guy's wall – Predator style.

"Thanks and everything," he stammered, back pressed to the wall. "But, um… no."

"Then starve!" He roared, and his voice was more animal than person. Stiles wondered if it was possible to wet yourself out of sheer fear. He slammed the door so hard that Stiles actually thought he heard the wood splinter a little, and after a few thundering steps, a heavy 'smack' that sounded a lot like a fist hitting a wall.

Fuck.

Maybe he should have agreed to eat with this guy. Maybe he'd be better off trying to be nice? Go along with whatever he was asked to do and hope that they wouldn't kill him off at the end of it all?

By now though, his dad would have found out he was missing, and although he knew Scott would cover for him, he also knew that Jackson would love to drop him in it – so their mom would definitely know that he was gone. Stiles never thought he'd be pleased to have Jackson and his big mouth as a brother, but if it alerted his parents to his being gone sooner – he was all for it.

They'd know he was missing. Hours must have passed by now, it was daylight! They'd be looking for him for sure now. All he had to do was stay alive long enough for them to find him.

* * *

**_Happy Good Friday if you celebrate it!_**

**_Today wasn't such a great day at work – mostly because we had to work on Good Friday – but we got home a little earlier than normal so that kind of made up for it. _**

**_I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think (like/dislike/can't stand) and I'll keep it in mind when writing :)_**

**_I know that some people have started following me on Tumblr, so I'll apologise now for the amount of Supernatural posts and (mostly) Gabriel stuff on there. He's my latest obsession. ;)_**

**_Hope you all have a great weekend and I'll see you on Monday!_**

**_(I should have posted this yesterday! Sorry!)_**

**_(PS – SPOILER! DO NOT READ! _**

* * *

**_Seriously!_**

**_Stop reading._**

* * *

**_ I warned you._**

* * *

**_Bobby fucking DIES?!_**

**_WTF PEOPLE?_**

**_No wonder I forgot to post this fucking chapter. I was in a snot induced coma of feels, you wankers did not prepare me for this._**


	5. Chapter 5

As the sun started to fade from the small window set high near the ceiling, Stiles began to worry that maybe they **_did_** plan to let him starve after all. He'd been trying to keep his ears peeled for the sound of dogs – he knew that the sniffer dogs were able to follow a scent even from a car, they could be trained so well, but he heard nothing. No sirens, no dogs, no organised search parties calling out his name… and the longer he heard nothing, the more worried he became.

Erica's smiled words that they wouldn't find Stiles started to sound truer in his mind – what if they couldn't find him? What then? How long were these probable serial killers / definite kidnappers going to keep him here?

He could hear heavy steps in the corridor outside the locked door (he'd checked, it was definitely locked) and then fade away again as whomever it was just kept walking past the door like he wasn't trapped inside. Stiles wondered how many other people they kept there – locked up and left to starve.

* * *

It had been dark for hours before Stiles heard anything else. There was a slam of a door, and a howl – close too – that sounded like some kind of wild animal. He tried to remember all the wildlife documentaries that he'd watched with his dad and figured it might be a wolf, if they got wolves in the reserve. He wasn't sure. They weren't supposed to get cougars either, but they did. Maybe a pack had move – He stopped thinking as soon as he heard hurried steps along the corridor, stopping at his door. Stiles tried to keep his breathing shallow as there was a few seconds wait. Stiles got the feeling that whoever was on the other side of the door they were maybe trying to compose themselves, which didn't make sense because **_he_** was the damn prisoner. Unless they were working up to killing him. Oh God.

The lock turned with a click that had Stiles heart thudding in his chest, but he managed to keep his breathing level so they wouldn't know just how terrified he was. He knew that staying calm would probably be what saved his life. His dad had told him often enough that it was when people started being heroic that they ended up getting themselves (and others) hurt – or worse. Stiles didn't want to be remembered as the Boy who got himself killed just as the rescue was knocking down the door. That would **_suck_**.

It was Erica who opened the door, wearing a pair of slouched grey jeans that looked like they might have once been black, and a white vest. She looked completely different from the girl that had taken him from the club.

"Right," She said, looking over her shoulder. "You're going to come with me, keep your mouth shut and don't ever mention this to the boss, okay?" She said, voice low.

Stiles nodded. The Boss was the one he needed to worry about. The other three didn't seem to want to hurt him. The boss though… he got the feeling that the boss would quite happily rip him a new one. Twice. With his teeth.

She motioned with her head, causing her blond hair to swish around her head like a damn shampoo commercial. Stiles followed her like he was being pulled by a string, and for the first time, he saw the hallway outside the room he'd been locked in for 24 hours. "I really need to use the bathroom." He said, reminded by the weight in his bladder that he'd been locked in a room without any place to 'go' for 24 hours.

"Yeah, you can use one of the guest ones." She shrugged. "But I swear to God, if you try to do something stupid like climb out of a window or try to escape, you'll be in so much pain you'll wish for death."

"Gotcha." Stiles nodded, not sure if he'd be able to pee ever again through sheer terror. Jesus, did these freaks take intimidation lessons or something?

The hallway was long, with wooden floors that were varnished and polished so much Stiles could actually see his reflection in the smooth surface. He'd never seen floors so clean in his life. He'd never seen walls covered in fabric-looking paper either, though, so there was a first for everything. It looked… expensive. Actually, if Stiles was being honest with himself and used his wide range of vocabulary skills drawn from various Bond movies – it looked very 'Posh'.

"Nice place." He said, under his breath.

"Yeah." Erica shrugged. "We've had **_plenty_** of time to keep it in shape."

There was something in the way she said plenty that had Stiles brain trying to kick him – like there was something he should be noticing – something he was missing. The corridor suddenly opened up into a huge room – bigger than any Stiles had previously been in. The wooden floor they'd been walking on turned to smooth as glass marble (Stiles brain didn't even bother trying to figure it out if it was real or not because going on the general opulence of the place it was obviously **_real_**) and a full on sweeping staircase. On both sides. Stiles was being held prisoner by the Russian Mafia. Who the hell else – Walt Disney didn't count – had a sweeping fucking staircase in white marble? No-one. Mafia. He was going to be killed over a drug deal gone wrong or something. He was so fucking dea –

"Right? I know. Wow." Erica deadpanned. "You get used to it. Trust me. You'll have time." She gave him a look he didn't understand as he gaped at her. "It's all over your face." She pointed out. "You look like a fish trying to breathe air." She opened and closed her mouth a few times to drive the point home. "Try to keep up."

They'd only gotten a few yards into the massive reception hallway – Stiles wasn't sure what else to call it – when the blond boy from the club slid down the banister of the staircase.

"Erica!" He hissed, as he vaulted (fucking vaulted!) off the end and land on his feet like a fucking gymnast. "What the hell are you doing?" He glared at Stiles like this was all his fault and then back to Erica.

"Isaac, shut it." She shot back. "Starve him." She snorted. "Seriously. What is up with his head? He's gone native for too long."

"Shut up," The blond boy, Isaac, said, looking around nervously. "You don't know where he is."

"Yes, I do." She grinned. "He's '**_gone for a run_**'" she said, dropping her voice to a dangerous growl – obviously mocking by the look on her face. Only it didn't sound too mocking when it really sounded like a growl. Stiles was obviously going into shock.

"He could be back!"

"He'll be checking the barrier, you idiot." Erica shot back. "You know how long that takes."

* * *

They had argued for a while longer before Erica rolled her eyes for the last time, walking towards the other side of the room. Stiles, not sure what he was supposed to do, followed. She pushed a wide door open, and Stiles was suddenly standing in what looked like… well… a dining room. If dining rooms had a table that could easily sit the entire house of congress or something. Isaac, the blond boy, followed them in. Stiles thought that they might be siblings, but he wasn't sure. They had the same hair, and the same general look – lean, beautiful – but aside from that… He just couldn't tell. One end of the table had been set for four people, and Stiles was going to ask what was going on when another door opened and a silver cart loaded with food was pushed through by the other kidnapper.

"Boyd!" Isaac half whined. "Please tell me you aren't in on this?"

"I already made this." The larger boy shrugged as he lifted tray after tray of food onto the table. "It'll go to waste."

"Sit." Erica commanded Stiles as she shoved him into one of the seats. "Oh, bathroom is through there, second door on the right." She waved a hand. "Do you have that grey stuff?" She asked Boyd. "It's delicious."

Stiles half scrambled to the door she'd pointed out. The smell of the food was heaven, but… The hallway was smaller, and looked more used than the other parts of the house he'd seen. There were a few doors, and his curiosity got the better of his brain for a moment as he tried the handle to the door nearest to him. It was locked.

"Second door on the right," Erica's voice called after him. "Don't be an idiot."

Stiles dropped his hand away from the door like it was burning, looking over his shoulder. There was no way they could have seen what he was doing. No Way.

Rather than be a hero, Stiles only opened the door that Erica had pointed out. The bathroom was actually pretty normal looking – if you were used to living in 5 star hotels with matching towels and the end of the toilet paper folded up into a little point. Who the hell did that? Brass taps and little brass stands for the soap to sit on so it wouldn't get all gross on the basin. He took his time, but didn't want to risk spending any longer looking at his pale reflection in the mirror.

When he walked back through into the stupidly large dining room and saw that the other had already started eating, looking like they were huddled together on the end of the table, he wondered **_why_** the house was so big, and **_why_** he'd never heard of it. Surely a place like this… someone in Beacon Hills was going to know about it. You can't just ignore a fucking mansion in the woods, right?

"Try this." Erica said, holding out a cracker with grey… stuff… piled high. "Seriously." When he shook his head, she shrugged, and pushed the whole thing into her mouth on one go. "Your loss." She said, spraying fine crumbs everywhere.

"Classy, Erica." Isaac replied, brushing off his dark green long sleeved tee. "Seriously, you've never been more attractive to me."

"If I wanted that," She replied after sticking out her grey tongue at him, "I'd seriously wonder if I'd received a frontal lobotomy overnight."

Stiles sat down at the chair Erica had pushed him towards earlier. "I don't know what you like." The boy called Boyd shrugged. "I run the kitchen here."

"This looks good." Stiles replied, feeling unsure. Was he supposed to just pretend like these people hadn't kidnapped him from a club?

"Yeah, Boyd is the best cook ever." Erica grinned. "It's why he wa-"

"You really should just hurry up and eat though." Isaac cut over her. "Before he gets back."

"Who?" Stiles asked, knowing fine well who. He needed some answers. He started eating. The food was amazing, the best he'd ever had – chicken that melted in his mouth, a sauce he couldn't have described without using the word superb about 8 times and… good god, the grey stuff **_was_** delicious.

"Derek." Isaac said. "You've already met him."

"Tall. Dark. Brooding." Erica cut in. "More eyebrows than brains."

"Shut up Erica!" Isaac hissed.

"He's not here."

"He's still the Alp-" He shot a look at Stiles who was trying to look disinterested in the conversation. "The Boss."

"He's an idiot who thinks that keeping a guest locked in a basement is a good idea." She snapped, and Stiles really, really must be going crazy because he was sure that her teeth got longer when she spoke. He blinked.

"Why did you kidnap me?" He asked, possibly shock making him stupid.

"We didn't kidnap you." Erica laughed. "We were fulfilling a deal your dad made."

"Against my will."

"Yeah, deals often suck when you don't think them through." She agreed, and there was something in her voice that spoke volumes. The other two boys, rather than shush her or tell her to be quiet, nodded as well. "Trust us on this: If we hadn't come to get you, things would have gotten a **_lot_** worse, not just for you, but for your whole family."

"What happened?"

"Didn't he tell you?" Isaac replied. "Your dad?"

"No." Stiles said, shaking his head.

"Um… He had an accident, and Derek brought him here to keep him safe from the storm." Isaac said. "He doesn't normally do that, you know? We don't even know why he did it."

"Really out of character." Boyd cut in.

"Yeah." Isaac agreed. "Anyway, your dad woke up, and he… he stole something that Derek's been working on for a long time."

"Like, a really long time." Erica added.

"And then he tried to leave. And Derek was going to just let him go… but the papers…" Isaac shuddered. "We thought he was going to kill him when he saw the water damage."

"Isaac's pretty good at talking Derek down though." Boyd said, and Stiles saw Isaac blush a little. It didn't make sense. His dad wouldn't steal stuff. He was a cop! He didn't want to cut in though, because he really, really wanted to know what was going on.

"So he offered your dad a deal. A good deal. A great deal, actually – if it had turned out different."

"What was the deal?"

"First thing you see when you get back to town; you have to send back to us." Isaac said, as though he'd learned it in a classroom. "Pretty typical stuff. Normally it's like… a wild animal or like a pet."

"But it was me." Stiles said, the food on his plate not looking too appetising now. These people were crazy, thinking that a person should be sent back. Stiles knew now why his dad was so angry.

"It's stupid." Erica said, looking at her hands. "So stupid! But if you don't keep the deal, things get… complicated." She paused, looking at Stiles with eyes that seemed so much older than the rest of her. "Like, seriously complicated."

Stiles found himself nodding. It didn't matter how complicated things got, his dad – his family! – weren't going to just let some freaks in the forest steal him away. No way. Somewhere, probably getting nearer by the moment, was a search party, looking for him. With dogs and guns. Stiles just needed to keep it together until they arrived.

* * *

John Stilinski sat at the dinner table and looked at his two boys who were arguing good naturedly over who got the last of the roast potatoes.

"I don't know why I made so much extra," his wife said. "Were we expecting someone else?"

"Not that I can remember." John grinned, reaching for the leftover chicken. "I'm not complaining." He added, giving her a wink. "With these two bottomless pits, it's a wonder we ever have any extra left."

"Can you think," She smiled, looking at the boys. "That we wanted to try for another?"

"Three kids in this house?" He scoffed. "We'd be falling over each other."

"I'd need to take out shares in the grocery store." She laughed. "Jackson, don't you dare punch your brother, don't think I can't see you."

And as they ate, John couldn't seem to push aside that niggling feeling that something was… off. He'd probably left his phone at work again; he shrugged, going back to the extra chicken on his plate.

* * *

**_Happy Monday! Have a chapter!_**

**_Did you all overdose on chocolate this weekend? I know I did._**

**_I also watched the ENTIRE rest of Season 7, and I'm currently getting ready to watch Season 8 of Supernatural. So…. My feelings can't even be summed up in words. _**

**_I've been advised by my baby cousin that my love for Benny will eclipse my love for Cas – although I think she's talking out her skinny little butt. She's got a Benny fetish. _**

**_Hopefully I'll get the first episode watched tonight._**

**_For those that gave me warm blankets and soothing words to get me through the Bobby thing, I thank you. My thoughts on THAT whole thing could take me about a thousand words ALL IN CAPS._**

**_I hope you had a good weekend, let me know what you got up to! Family? Friends? Trying to lock yourself in a room in a giant fort made of chocolate eggs?_**

**_Love ya!_**

- **_Robyn_**


	6. Chapter 6

Erica didn't want to take him back to the basement where he'd been locked up, but Stiles got the feeling that both Boyd and Isaac thought that might be a good idea. Mostly because Isaac pitched a fit when she suggested that he take one of the rooms upstairs.

"He'll know we had him out already." Isaac hissed at her. "You think we're not in enough trouble you want to put him in a room?"

"It's not his fault!"

"Sure, and it wasn't our fault that we got stuck here, but that's just the way it works. You do what he tells you and you don't ask questions."

"He'll be back soon." Boyd pointed out. "It might be best not to piss him off just yet."

Which was why he was locked up again, in the basement. He was exhausted. He'd been awake for over 25 hour, he knew that now, going on the massive grandfather clock – who even had those nowadays? – in the dining room.

There was nowhere to sleep – the room was completely empty. No one had a basement with nothing in it. Not even an old box full of crap and dead batteries that you should throw out, or rolls of undeveloped film you always meant to get developed and never did. Everyone had those, but not crazy living in a mansion people, apparently.

About an hour after he'd been locked back up by a pissy looking Erica, who managed to take 'pissy' to a level where Stiles was actually a little afraid of her, he heard a door slam. A few moments after that, he heard what could only be described as a temper tantrum. There was a crash so loud Stiles actually wondered if the floor was about to cave in around his head, but then he remembered the suits of armour. Because normal people have those in the hallway. It sounded like someone had thrown one across the hall. Metal and Marble would make a pretty big noise.

He couldn't make out what anyone was saying, because they were too far away and the stupid fabric walls would absorb most of the sound – who said that TV didn't teach you anything useful?

The thing that worried him was the sounds of dogs or something, because he could definitely hear some kind of animal making a lot of noise.

After a while though – it all calmed down, and Stiles was half nodding off as she desperately tried to keep his eyes open. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep and miss hearing the search party that was looking for him.

* * *

He was jerked awake by the slamming of the door being thrown open and hitting against the wall with a bang. His whole body jerked in shock, blood pumping through his heart as he yelped in surprise.

Standing in the doorway was Derek, the Boss, the one who made the deal that got him locked in a room with one tiny window and no bathroom. He looked seriously pissed off.

"Follow me." He snapped, and Stiles didn't even have to think about obeying because he got the distinct impression that if he even tried he'd find his lungs ripped out of his body.

"You will not leave this house. You will not talk to the others. You are not a guest here." He growled as he stalked through the house. He moved so fast Stiles was doing an odd half skip just to keep up with him. "You will not, under any circumstances," He stopped at the foot of one of the massive staircases, "Leave. This. House." Each word was punctuated by a crack of his knuckles.

"Right, yes, loud and clear. Not to leave. Gotcha. 100% clear on that. No issues at all." Stiles stammered, voice slightly shriller than he would have liked to admit. "Staying in the house. The big, creepy museum house with the medieval suits of armour. Yeah. Sure."

"Shut up." Derek snapped, and climbed the stairs. He moved so fast that Stiles was left scrambling after him, and was out of breath before he hit the top of the wide curved staircase. It went to show just how exhausted he was because normally he had enough energy for the entire lacrosse team. Derek stalked down the wide hall and stopped abruptly at one door. "This is where your will stay." He pushed the door open wide, and for a moment Stiles thought he was going to push him inside, but he just stood to one side with an expression on his face that clearly said he'd rather be anywhere but standing there with Stiles.

The room was huge. Giant. Old.

No one had a proper oak four poster bed anymore, especially not with the huge hanging drapes around it. Especially what looked more like a tapestry than regular drapes. No one had an actual fireplace in their bedroom! No one had a room that wouldn't look out of place in a castle – the only modern thing Stiles could see was the bathroom, and even that – visible through a side door, was fucking pale cream marble and gold taps. Who the hell was this guy?

He'd unthinkingly stepped forward into the room, sneakers sinking into the plush red carpet at least an inch. "What the fuck?" He mouthed, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the door behind him slammed shut.

Spinning around, he saw that he was alone in the room. He could hear Derek walk down the hallway, and then stop.

"Are you happy now?" His voice was easily heard in what Stiles supposed was his room.

"Very." Erica's muffled voice replied, probably from somewhere near where Stiles was supposed to sleep. Maybe next door? "Although a little politeness wouldn't go amiss!" She shot back, and that was all it took to have Derek slamming another door – and another crash – and another slamming door.

Stiles sighed. Someone had a temper then, which didn't really mean good things for him.

He had a quick look around the room, but all of his attention was taken by the bed. The soft, warm looking bed that was calling his sleep deprived mind like a damn siren.

* * *

When Stiles woke up, he did it slowly. He knew any moment Scott, a stupidly early riser, was going to throw a damp towel at his head and force him to get up before Jackson hogged the shower for the rest of the morning. But as he blinked and started to come too, it wasn't his posters on the wall he was seeing. It took him a while to understand what was going on… where he was.

He'd fallen asleep fully clothed, crashed out on the bed with only his shoes off. Through the night he must have grabbed some covers and pulled them over his body, because he was warm and strangely safe all wrapped up in the massive bed. The drape slash tapestries were pulled shut, and with the light that must have been coming through the wide windows, he could see what was sewn into the cloth.

It was a story, like a fairy-tale or something – and it was strangely familiar. It started with a large house – and a happy family. Then there was some kind of farm or something, and loads of people working. Probably slaves or something, Stiles wasn't stupid – even if the people in the images were smiling there was every chance that they suffered in real life. Then as he followed the 'story' he could see the happy workers drinking and eating with the family, and everyone just seemed pretty happy. Then a woman arrived, and after that, everything looked like it went to shit. Whoever had made the tapestry really fucking hated this woman, because she touched the farm and it withered, but the house wasn't affected.

The family were still happy, and the workers looked like they lived in the house as well – maybe there was some kind of crop failure and the superstitious olden days people had blamed this woman?

Stiles turned his head to follow the tale, and saw the woman lure a boy into her arms – the boy from the house. The next drape had the boy – on the ground, and the woman going in the house….

Something grabbed at Stiles memory. Something Scott had said about… a witch… and a noble family…

This was the fairy-tale that Scott was helping the kids with. He snorted. Here he was, trying to figure out if there was some deeper meaning to the story, and it was just a stupid story they taught kids in kindergarten.

He pushed the drapes back and blinked as the light poured into the room, bright and warm. The drapes obviously had shielded him from the worst of the light.

He stood up, and unlike the night before, he took his time looking around.

Everything looked like it had been bought at auction, with large, heavy furniture that his mom loved but could never afford. Everything matched, the covered on the chairs matched the red carpet that his socks were sinking deep into – more like a rug than a real carpet – and as he walked around the room he got the distinct feeling that the room had maybe belonged to a kid once. There were a few things that gave it away. The storybook on the drapes, there was a unit – a dresser – that had a proper old fashioned tin soldier standing guard by the mirror. When he opened the chest of the foot of the bed he found carefully stacked books that were full of children's stories – but none of them like he could remember. He didn't remember ever reading about Goldilocks from the **_bears_** perspective before, and the illustrations looked like they'd been painted by hand – which was just stupidly expensive for a kids book.

Aside from that though, there was nothing. Nothing at all that said where he was, or who he was living with. There wasn't a name in any of the books or even carved into the back of the closet (All three Stilinski boys had their names carved in to the back of their big shared closet at home; it was a rite of passage).

As Stiles sat in the middle of the room, holding the large children's book in his hand, he realised that he'd been missing from home for nearly 2 days. Somewhere, his parents would be worried sick.

* * *

There was a knock at the door, and Stiles, who had been trying not to freak out in the middle of the floor, felt his whole body jump at the noise.

"Dude, it's just me." Erica's voice said. "I've brought you something to eat."

"I think he locked me in." He replied – remembering that he hadn't even thought to check. Idiot.

There was a jiggle of the handle, and the door swung open. "Nah," Erica shrugged, walking in with a tray loaded with food in her hands. "He can't lock you in here – the nursery doesn't have a lock. They had to take it out when the kids kept locking themselves on the wrong side."

Stiles nodded. Not much of a nursery anymore, but yeah… that made sense. "Where are they?"

"Who?"

"The kids?"

Erica suddenly looked like she wanted to cry. "Oh, you know." She shrugged. "Kids." Like that answered the question. Stiles wanted to know, but there was something in her expression that had him shutting up. Whatever happened she obviously didn't want to talk about it. "So!" She said, giving herself a little shake. "Eat this and we'll take you on the grand tour of the place."

Stiles looked at the plate piled with food. "Um, I was told to stay in my room."

Erica laughed. "Jesus, Stiles, don't be such a goody-two-shoes." She smirked. "You'll never fit in here."

* * *

Scott Stilinski had been locked in the closet by his older brother while their parents went out to the store together.

He knew that all he had to do was hit the top corner of the door and it would dislodge the old lock, but he wanted to make sure that Jackson wasn't still in his room when he got out. They were far too old for stupid pranks like that, but Jackson didn't care as long as he thought he was getting one up on Scott. Asshole.

He ran his hand over the carved names, comfortingly familiar – and paused. There was something else carved there. Hitting the sweet spot at the corner of the door, he pushed forward, and let the light pour into the dark closet.

He needed to push a few things aside, but he saw it there.

Jackson Stilinski 9

Scott Stilinski 8

Stiles Stilinski 7 ½

He leaned back on his heels and looked at the words that his brain just didn't seem to want to see. Who the hell was Stiles, and why was his name carved into their closet?

* * *

**_Happy Tuesday! Have a chapter!_**

**_I know they aren't as long as everyone would like, but with work being... well... there... it's getting harder to find the time to write and I don't want to stop posting through the week, or start missing days – you can get a 4k chapter every 2_****_nd_****_ day, but the overall word count would stay the same. _**

**_In other news, (slightly spoilery if you don't watch Supernatural) I met Benny._**

**_Oft that man could read me the phone book. Twice. Love his voice. What is it with this show and actors with voices that seem to come from their damn boots?! _**

**_Colour me impressed._**

**_Of course, Cas is still my precious baby and all, but Benny could hang out, sure. ;)_**

**_Hope you are all doing good! :D_**

**_- Robyn_**

**_(ps, my cat is snoring. This is adorable.)_**


	7. Chapter 7

Scott told Jackson about the name in the closet, although he didn't seem to care about the name at all. "Probably just a cousin or something." He shrugged, before snorting under his breath about Scott being a head case. But there was something that just didn't make sense. Scott remembered carving his name into the closet. Remembered because they had stolen their dad's penknife and it had been a big rush. He remembered he'd been wearing the jeans with the hole in the pocket because the knife fell through, and clattered on the ground and… he remembered someone else being there – but his brain just wouldn't let him remember who. Someone just as important as Jackson. Someone… he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs away. Probably an imaginary friend or something. He had a date with Allison, the new girl (he couldn't even believe his luck!) and he really needed to get ready.

* * *

"This was the playroom, back in the day." Erica was saying, pushing open another door. There were rocking horses and a massive dolls house that took up most of the wall, huge shelving units stacked with dolls with white faces and old fashioned clothes. Wood chests carved with scenes from stories – three little pigs, red riding hood, the boy who cried wolf… all carved into chests that Stiles was sure held more toys. He'd have given his right arm for a room like this when he was a kid – hell, he'd give his right arm for a room like this now – it was **_awesome_**.

"I come in here every now and then and make sure it's all still good, you know?" She said, walking around and touching a few things seemingly without even being aware. She picked up a metal soldier and moved the legs – causing his arms to swing at his sides. "Some of this stuff needs oiled, or washed, you know? About once a month I take down the dolls and give them a good wipe down." She smiled fondly.

"You're in charge of this?" Stiles asked looking at the doll's house. It was full of impossibly small pieces. He couldn't imagine giving this to a kid. There was little silver knives and forks, and little china cups smaller than his fingernail. Who the hell had toys like this for **_kids_**?

"My mom was the housekeeper, and when I was old enough, I looked after the children – helped the nanny, that kind of thing." She looked around, and Stiles got the feeling that something really terrible had happened here. Not just the regular terrible, when someone died, but the really, tragic stuff you read about in the newspapers.

"Where are they now?"

"Who?" Erica asked, putting the toy soldier down.

"The kids?"

There was a silence that seemed to stretch out forever as Erica turned to face away from him. "Gone." She said eventually, her voice distant.

Stiles didn't know what to do. He was being held here against his will – but he got the distinct impression that something was going on that he knew nothing about. And Stiles loved a mystery.

"So!" Erica said, turning around and smile on her face that seemed a million miles away from how she looked only a few moments ago. "Want to see the rest of the place?"

* * *

There were bedrooms and little 'private sitting rooms' and a fucking music room with a grand piano and a damn **_harp_**, long corridors with paintings of people who looked a lot like Derek id Derek ever smiled – but Stiles was starting to see a trend. The stuff was well made, and very well looked after – but it was old. Really old. The lighting was electric, but it was obviously put in after the house had been decorated – the sockets and switches looked out of place no matter how they'd obviously tried to blend them into the room with the brass coverings. Most of the time it just looked like they'd given up and just pushed things against the wall to hide the more modern things. "If it aint baroque, don't fix it!" Erica snorted as they walked past the ornate decoration.

Stiles had noticed it in his own room, but the light fittings were old, with new wires reaching down. It looked like they'd been old gas lamps – which was worrying because weren't those like, super dangerous for fire and stuff? – That had just been replaced with modern bulbs.

There were leather topped writing desks with fucking **_inkwells_** – real, dip thy quill in to-eth thy inkwell, inkwells – and Stiles wondered who the hell would want to live in a museum? Places like this were normally open to the public, and Stiles just knew a place in such good condition would get a boatload of people coming to walk around the rooms and see how the people once lives before things like cars and microwaves.

"This is a pressing room." Erica said, opening a side door in one of the private sitting rooms. "They would dry flowers and herbs here, and then press them into books. It used to be quite popular, because there weren't cameras or anything, so if you wanted to keep a memory you had to either draw it or preserve it." She smiled. "No one uses this now, of course. It was Laura's."

Names were being dropped now, when Erica was talking, forgetful that he didn't know who she meant. So far Stiles had heard Peter, Caroline, Margaret and now Laura. He was storing this information away carefully. He didn't know if it would be important later.

"The drawings are really good." He commented, looking at the open book that was sitting on what was probably a work space. Perfectly drawn roses on the page looked like something he'd see in an old botany book, or something his grandmother would have hanging up in a frame.

"Oh, Laura was really accomplished." Erica half bragged. "She could sing, and draw – and dance…" Her voice trailed off. "Probably not a good idea to touch any of this stuff." She said, suddenly. "Derek doesn't like her things being moved."

* * *

"Holy fuck." Stiles breathed as they walked into the book room. Book Room. That's what Erica called it. This made it sound like an accountant's wet dream or something and it turned out to be… "You've got a fucking library." Stiles breathed. "In your house. Mansion. Castle. Whatever." He stood, wide mouthed and in total awe. "You've got a library. With a ladder on wheels! Holy shit!" He said half running over to it, fingers pushing the ladder so that it ran lightly on the well-oiled runners that attached it to the top of the shelving. "This isn't a real room." He pointed out. "This is a stage for a musical number."

"This is Isaac's thing." Erica shrugged. "He's been cataloguing these for years. I think he's read every book here, twice."

Stiles didn't want to point out how that was impossible, given the sheer fucking number of books that were everywhere – easily thousands. **_Easily_**. It would take a dozen lifetimes to read them – maybe longer. "He took over when his dad… He took over." She said. "He also does the wines too – apparently you need to rotate them or they go bad or something." She gave a shrug. "Who cares? Drink it."

"I'm only 17." Stiles pointed out. "I don't drink."

"Yeah, well it doesn't count if it's with a meal, right?"

"Um, no, I'm pretty sure the law doesn't care if you're eating."

For a moment, Erica looked completely lost – like she had no idea what he was talking about. "How old do you need to be?"

"21." He replied, which caused her to burst out laughing.

"Sure. 21." She snorted.

Stiles didn't really get her, but he was too busy running his eyes over the titles on the shelves. Most of the stuff was on plants at first, but as he walked along he started to see that there was a system in place. 'Science' books that were so out of date Stiles wondered if they even knew about evolution were beside the latest textbooks published for colleges. The further into the room he got, the more varied the collection of books got. Flora gave way to fauna and then he found himself faced with books about mankind, then history, then art and then classic literature gave way to more modern titles. He was reading through the wide range of books that seemed to have nothing in common when he heard Erica talk to someone else. "He's just looking."

"He's not supposed to be here." The voice was hard and unwelcoming. Stiles spun around on the balls of his feet and stared.

Derek was there, standing in the doorway in his black jeans and grey Henley, looking like all he wanted to do was punch Erica in the face. She didn't look like she gave a damn though, and shrugged. "Yeah, but we've not had people here for so long and I'm fed up of just having Isaac and Boyd to talk to."

"You talk to me."

"Uh huh." She snorted. "And when was the last time we had a conversation, Derek? About a hundred years ago when you actually **_talked_**."

"Leave." He snapped, and Stiles wasn't able to hide the jump of nerves at the tone. Erica though, simply rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"I'm in the kitchens if you need me." She said over her shoulder as she left, leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

* * *

Not quite sure what he should be doing, Stiles stood by the shelves and stared at the man who – as far as he knew – was the man who convinced his dad to make a deal that would result in Stiles being kidnapped and held in a house that belonged in a period drama.

"Erica will order you some clothes." Derek said after a while, looking almost as uncomfortable as Stiles felt. "Tell her what you need."

"I need to go home." Stiles said without thinking. Walking around the huge place with Erica had actually made him forget that somewhere his parents were looking for him, probably worried sick about him. His dad would be feeling guilty about the whole deal thing, thinking it was all his fault because Stiles had been the first thing he saw…

"You can't."

"Look, my dad is a cop, okay? A cop! He'll never stop looking for me! He's probably out there right now with a picture and a crowd and sniffer dogs and… and… you have to let me go!" His voice cracked as he spoke, betraying just how he felt.

"No one is looking for you." Derek said, his voice clear with conviction.

"You don't know my dad." Stiles shot back. "You don't know my **_mom_**!"

Derek shrugged, "I can prove it."

* * *

Stiles was in a room on the other side of the house – the side that Erica had made sure not to take him. At first it looked like the rest of the house, but as he walked deeper into the corridor he saw the walls were cracked, paint chipping off in places that looked like punches in the plaster – if fists were that big. Some of the doors weren't even on their hinges, ripped off and hanging there. And it got worse the further down they went.

By the time they reached the last room, the place was a ruin. It looked like no one had lived there for decades, dust thick on the floor, each step they took swirling it around dramatically.

Derek pushed open the door that was cracked and shattered with one hand, lumps of wood falling apart at the touch. The room was bright – too bright compared to the hallways they'd just walked through, and it took a few moments for Stiles to understand why.

The windows that ran along one side of the room were smashed and destroyed, bright sunlight pouring in. "There." Derek said, pointing to a mirror – the only thing in the room that wasn't destroyed. It was large, like the one his mom had on her vanity dresser – the one she'd gotten from her grandmother when she'd married – and it was carefully set against the wall that was decaying around it.

"It's a mirror." Stiles pointed out.

"It's magic."

* * *

Stiles was back in his room nursing his hand carefully. He was pretty sure he'd broken something in the swinging punch he'd levelled at Derek. A magic mirror? He growled under his breath. The guy took him for a fucking idiot. Stiles had swung his fist without thinking, and Derek had been so taken aback that he'd actually stumbled over, feet getting tangled in the mess underfoot and landing on his ass in the dust. Stiles had levelled a kick at him too, but that had only resulted in Derek grabbing his leg and pulling, causing Stiles to fall over and hit the ground with a painful thud. The vibrations had caused the mirror – the magic mirror – to slip.

Stiles wasn't sure if he'd blinked and missed it, but one moment Derek was on the ground and the next he launched himself at the falling mirror. Stiles couldn't believe that anyone could move so fast, but Derek managed to grab the mirror just before it hit the ground and smashed.

"Whoa, dude!" Stiles breathed. "That was like a serious Jedi move there!"

"Get out!" Derek roared, clutching the mirror like it was the most important thing in the world. "Get out!"

And that's when Stiles saw his eyes.

He was currently trying to block out the sounds in the house around him because although it was a big fucking mansion, sound still travelled when someone was destroying half of it. Stiles though, was pretty safe in his room, because he'd spend the past hour pushing and pulling the solid oak dresser over to the door, locking himself in, and whatever the fuck Derek was, out.

Red eyes. Glowing red eyes.

Stiles flexed his fingers on his right hand and winced as the pain shot up his arm, keeping his mind on the present rather than what he'd seen in the destroyed room. Derek had gone from looking like a regular (scary – in fact, damn terrifying – man, but a man all the same) man to… something… else. Something with teeth and hair and red glowing eyes.

He wanted to go home. All he wanted was to go **_home_**, and Stiles wasn't much to look at, but he had a brain and he was going to use it.

* * *

Four hours later and the house was in total silence. Well… most of the house was in total silence, but Stiles room - the one he'd barricaded himself into when Derek had turned, was full of people.

"Shit." Boyd said, looking at the bed with its linen covers tied together into a make-shift rope.

"He went out the window." Isaac pointed out as he leaned out, looking down. "He landed in the rose bushes. We're dead."

"Wasn't anything to do with us!" Erica pointed out. "This is on him."

"Yeah, and you know how well he takes criticism." Boyd dryly pointed out.

"What if he hits the barrier?"

"We'll need to find him before he does." Erica said with a shrug. "It's one human. On foot. With rose thorns sticking in his ass. If we can't find him, we deserve whatever Derek decides to dish out."

* * *

Stiles managed to get pretty far before he remembered that the reserve was massive and he had no idea where he was. The trees were so dense overhead he couldn't even make out where the sun was, never mind judge the direction. He was lost. He figured he'd been going for a few hours at least before he heard the water. Running water. And water meant a stream, and a stream meant that eventually it would have to let out into some kind of lake – and lakes were patrolled by the wildlife rangers to make sure no one was poaching. Stiles had spent a couple of summers as a Helping Hand, Beacon Hill's answer to scouts, before he'd gotten himself and Scott kicked out, so he knew one or two things about the reserve.

He was going home!

* * *

A few hours after that, the small river he'd been following went underground, leaving him standing in the middle of a forest with no clue of how to proceed. He was muddy and hungry, his ass hurt from where Derek had knocked him to the floor, and then again when he'd landed in the roses – he was still pulling thorns from his jeans – and now he was well and truly lost. Oh, and the pain in his hand was nothing compared to the pain in his leg because he'd tripped over a root and twisted it so hard he thought he might have broken his damn leg.

He sat down on the rock and winced at the pain that seemed to come from everywhere. "Fuck."

"Good effort though." A voice said from his left, rough but ever so slightly amused. Stiles didn't even bother to get to his feet. He wasn't going to get any further.

"Thought I had it, with the stream." He shrugged.

"It spirals back towards the house." Derek said, walking a few steps away from where he was standing and moving a thick branch out of Stiles line of sight. He was able to see the grey stone walls of the house he'd spent the better part of the day trying to escape.

"Balls."

"You can't leave here."

"You may have made that pretty clear." Stiles bit out.

"No, I mean, you can't leave here." Derek repeated. "Not yet."

Stiles frowned at him. "Not yet?" He asked. "Are you planning on letting me go?"

"I didn't want you here in the first place!" Derek snapped, and Stiles saw his hazel eyes tinge with red again, and his heart thudded in his chest. Derek blinked, and his eyes were back to normal. "A deal is a deal. They can't be broken."

Stiles nodded, whatever Derek was going to say, Stiles was going to nod, because Derek didn't want him here, and Stiles didn't want to be here, and they were so **_totally_** going to be able to help each other out.

"So… you want me to go, and I want to go… so what's stopping you from just kicking my ass back on the road?"

"It's complicated." Derek said, looking out into the trees. "And mostly unbelievable."

"Try me."

* * *

Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Derek were sitting in front of the huge fireplace in the library. Stiles had his leg – not broken, just sprained – propped up on a large foot rest. He'd had a bath and was wearing what he assumed was Isaac's shirt and Derek's jeans.

"You might have noticed the house is a bit older than it looks." Isaac started, taking a drink from the glass in his hand. "It was built here before America became independent, back when it was just a 'colony' for the very poor or the very wealthy to live. The Hale family travelled here from France after the Revolution, with a small fortune – the last of the wealth they had." He pulled out a large book, and opened it at a page, turning it so Stiles could see the illustration.

A family, large, in period clothing, standing by a boat – cases at their feet. He nodded. The writing under the drawing was in French, but he recognised 'Hale' in the dramatic swirling penmanship. "The family were also a part of a small community of… special… blood."

"Cursed." Derek muttered under his breath.

"Special." Isaac repeated. "They were called the Loup Garou – human wolves." He looked like he was waiting for Stiles to interrupt, but Stiles had given his word that he was going to hear this out, and damn if it wasn't an interesting story. "The Hale family used the money they had managed to keep from being seized to buy the land, and build this house." He paused, looking over at Derek, who was glaring at the wine glass in his hand. "The family refused to use the labour of slaves, which was unheard of at the time – and paid all of the land workers regardless of colour."

"My family came to work for them." Boyd said in his deep voice. "They were still classed as slaves, but they were paid and treated like the white workers."

"They were well known as good people. Every month, when the moon was full, they would roam the land they owned as wild wolves, and protected the people that worked for them – keeping predators away from the livestock."

"After many years, they became well known and popular, and hosted lavish parties for their friends. Some of them married and moved away to other parts of the country, but they kept in touch with their families." Isaac paused. "They had to. The blood that flowed in their veins was magical and powerful, and if they lost contact with their roots they would forget how to control the rage and wildness that came with such a rare gift."

"It was a good life, and people were very happy here, but after a while, word of the riches here reached evil, greedy ears, and hate grew in the hearts of men."

Stiles nodded. Yeah, this was about as close to a real fairy-tale as possible – these Hale people thought they were something special, had buckets of cash and someone got jealous.

"A powerful witch came, and used her magic to appear lovely and good – and tricked the family into letting her in to their circle of friendship. However, they were not foolish, and she knew that they would not tell her where the riches were kept. She…" Isaac's eyes flickered over to Derek for a moment, only a second's pause, but Stiles saw it, "She tricked one of the young boys of the family into letting her into the house under the cover of darkness, and once inside she snuck from room to room, killing everyone she found."

"However, she could not find the riches she was looking for. She believed that she had been tricked by the family, and cast a great curse over the house and the lands – creating a barrier between the Hale land and the rest of the world, cutting the rest of the Loup Garou off from their family and the knowledge of how to control their magic."

"Those trapped inside the barrier would remember the outside world, but would never be able to leave – bound by their home and their word - and those outside would forget all about the Hale family."

* * *

Stiles didn't ask any questions. He didn't need to. The story was one thing, but actually seeing it was something else. Right before his eyes, Derek changed – eyes glowing red and teeth lengthening, the hair on his face getting longer until he looked more like a wolf that a person. "Loup Garou." He said, waving an irate hand over his face, before changing back.

Erica pulled the large mirror that Derek had tried to show him earlier. "It's magic." She said, and this time, Stiles nodded. "Just say who you want to see, and it'll show you. Pretty handy."

Stiles looked at the mirror, and saw his expression. He looked shell-shocked, face pale, with shadows under his eyes and scratches covering his face where he'd fallen into the rosebushes and fallen on the woods.

"I want to see my dad." He said, and watched as his reflection faded into the familiar face of his dad.

* * *

"Dad," Scott said, reaching for the bowl of popcorn that was on the table as they settled down to watch a movie. "Do you know who Stiles is?" He ignored Jackson rolling his eyes, because when did Jackson ever take anything he said seriously? His dad shrugged.

"Should I?"

"I just thought, you know, when we were kids or something – like a cousin?"

"You'll have to ask your mom, Scott." His dad frowned. "She's the one who keeps on top of the family stuff. Sounds familiar though." He paused for a moment, "Spartacus or Game of Thrones?"

"Game of Thrones."

"Spartacus."

"Shut up, Jackson, we're two episodes behind on Game of Thrones."

"Shut up yourself!" Jackson said, levelling a punch – and hitting Scott right on the top of the arm.

* * *

Stiles couldn't help the hot tears that fell over his face as he watched his dad and his brothers act like he'd never been there. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could see from the relaxed shoulders of his dad that he wasn't acting like one of his sons was missing – kidnapped – stolen.

It was true, then. They had forgotten all about him.

He heard the others leave, but couldn't take his eyes off of the mirror, watching his family who obviously didn't remember him bicker and argue as he sat alone in a cursed house – sobbing until he fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

**_Happy Wednesday! Have a 4k chapter to make up for the shorter ones that you've been getting recently. _**

**_For some reason, it was super quiet today so I managed to get a bit more written than normal – don't expect this length tomorrow though – everyone knows a quiet day is always followed by a tonne of work the next day!_**

**_I've left a few things unanswered (duh! I'm nowhere near finished) so all those questions you've been asking recently will just have to wait ;)_**

**_I made the Hales French just because the original is a French story, and also the Lupe Garou legend is also from France._**

**_I know a lot of you are looking for lines from Beauty and the Beast in here – and I'm more than happy to oblige: There is one in this chapter. Shout out if you see it ;)_**

**_Better get going!_**

**_Love ya_**

- **_Robyn_**


	8. Chapter 8

"Eat." A strong voice commanded, as Stiles blinked his eyes open. He was sitting in an overstuffed chair, neck twisted painfully as he tried to sit up. It took him a few moments to realise where he was.

He had fallen asleep in the library, clutching the mirror that was now propped up against one of the bookshelves, showing nothing but a normal reflection. He remembered everything suddenly, in the space of a blink. His family watching TV like he'd never been born – his dad eating popcorn and his brother fighting on the couch as they seemed to bicker over something. They weren't looking for him. They didn't even know who he was.

That was worst. Knowing that his parents were out there, desperate for his return, gave him hope that he would be found – not now though. Now he knew this was it. No one was looking. No one remembered. No one **_cared_**.

Derek was standing there, holding out a plate that was stacked with food that Stiles knew he was never going to be able to eat, not when his stomach was tied in knots and he felt like he'd been kicked around the lacrosse pitch a few times. He just wanted to sleep.

"I'm not hungry."

"Fine." Derek snapped. "Starve."

He didn't leave though. After a few moments, he seemed to lose some of the tension in his body. "It's not as bad as it seems." He said, after a while.

"How'd you figure that out?" Stiles said, staring at the mirror leaning harmlessly against the wall. "My family don't even know who I am."

"After a year or so, the barrier won't stop you from leaving." Derek said, looking at the fire that had burnt down through the night. "Right now it's too dangerous, but it'll become less binding."

"And then I can go home?"

"If you want." Derek shrugged. "They won't remember you though. They'll never remember you."

"How can you be so calm about it?" Stiles snapped. "My mom and dad don't even know my name! Are you such a fucking monster you don't even understand?"

There was a tense moment where Stiles remembered that Derek was a Loup Garou – a fucking werewolf - who could probably rip his head off without thinking, before Derek sighed.

"My parents were outside the barrier when she cast the spell." He said. "I was 12 years old."

"I thought this happened hundreds of year ago?" Stiles said, feeling confused.

"It did." Derek said, walking over to the fireplace. "I stopped aging after a while."

"You were the boy she tricked?"

"Yes." Derek said, and Stiles guessed that the anger in his voice wouldn't even really go away.

"So you're… how old?"

"Around 236." Derek said. "Erica is older – Boyd is the oldest though – I think he was 19 when the curse hit."

"No one gets older here?"

"Humans do."

"Erica's a werewolf?"

"They all are. When… it happened… there were a few older adults still alive – my uncle, Peter, he was powerful – he became the Alpha when my parents forgot about us. He bit most of the staff before he was stopped. A lot of people died when they rejected the bite."

"So I'll die of old age while you just… stay. Forever."

"Yes." Derek said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Or I can leave, and forget everything – go mad and chase the moon."

"If I leave, will I forget?"

"Yes. Any longer than a day and you won't remember anything."

"But I **_can_** leave?"

"After about a year." Derek nodded. "The barrier is weaker. We don't know why. Maybe she thought after a year we wouldn't **_try_** to leave."

"All this for money?"

"For more than money. For power." He glared at the fireplace. "She thought we had some kind of magic that made people like us." He glanced at Stiles. "My parents were just good people."

* * *

A week later and Stiles had settled into what could probably call a routine. He had breakfast with Erica and Isaac – who really had read all the books in the library twice – and found out a few interesting things about the curse.

Because it was possible for Derek and the others to leave for short periods of time, they were able to keep up to date with the outside world. The entire reserve had once been Hale land, and the money generated from that and other investments that the family had made resulted in a **_very_** rich Derek.

He left once a month and bought things that they needed. Food, electronics, clothes… Stiles had used the laptop to order an entire new wardrobe, and it had been delivered to a PO box in Beacon Hills. Derek drove into town and picked it up – and Stiles watched through the magic mirror as he walked through the town that he wasn't able to go near. He saw people he recognised and more questions popped up.

"What happened to all my stuff?"

"What do you mean?" Erica asked, carefully cleaning all the miniature furniture in the doll's house. Stiles spent a lot of time in the play room, because he was a big kid really – under the pretence of 'cleaning'. Mostly he made jigsaw puzzles, there were hundreds of boxed games stashed all over.

"My clothes? My baby pictures? School report cards?"

"We don't know." She shrugged. "It was like… they just vanished. Most of the physical things just became someone else's – I think your brothers think your clothes belonged to them, that piece of crap car thing you drive is at the garage and no one remembers who it belongs to. But the other stuff just… goes away." She paused. "There are things that stay though, like echoes."

"What things?" Stiles asked, carefully resetting the tiny table with the porcelain plates and little tin forks.

"The knives go on the other side." She pointed out, as Stiles fixed it. Erica was seriously dedicated to making sure that the nursery was in perfect condition. "If they hear your name, it'll seem familiar." She shrugged. "If you spent a lot of time in a club or something, people might miss you without knowing – I used to help at a local school, I wanted to be a governess, and when I left they needed to replace me – and they didn't know why." She paused. "Things like that."

* * *

"What would have happened if you hadn't come and got me?"

Stiles asked Isaac as they sat on the top of one of the larger shelves – Isaac wanted to move a few books around before the new shipment arrived – he was expecting an updated encyclopaedia, and Stiles was under the impression that when he said 'complete' he didn't mean the abridged version.

"Well, as far as I've been able to work out, you'd have still been forgotten." He said, swinging his long legs over the edge of the case. They were at least 14 feet off the ground, but Stiles had stopped getting nervous about heights after a few days working with Isaac. "Think about it, waking up in your room and having your dad throw you out? Your brothers not knowing who you were – and you're begging?"

"Has it happened before?" He adjusted his leg, it still hurt, but he had it well wrapped up and was able to put his weight on it now, so helping out Isaac was allowed.

"A long time ago. We didn't know what would happen, so we let them go after making a deal, and they ended up being killed for trespassing. Derek was pretty pissed."

"If you're all older than him, why is he the boss?"

"It's his house. Old habits are hard to break, you know? Erica still misses the kids, every day – even though she won't admit it. Boyd still remembers the way his father bowed and scraped to the Hale family who paid him a wage – unheard of at the time – and my father was the Butler. Derek was the son of our employer – and back then he was more than a boss, he was a Lord, a **_master_**. You looked after the family." He shrugged. "When we were turned, and Derek had to kill Peter or lose everything… he became the Alpha, and…" He looked out over the room. "When he tells you to do something, it's instinctive. You do it."

* * *

He got a laptop of his own, although it came with pretty strict instructions about getting in touch with his family. He watched them all the time though, the mirror was in his room – Derek let him keep it for unknown reasons – and each night he would watch as his mom and dad ate dinner with his brothers. He saw that his place, his chair, was gone – like he never sat there. Scott was wearing his grey hoodie, eating fast because he was going out. Thursday nights used to be when they would play Call of Duty, but without him around, Scott went on a date.

* * *

Isaac, who'd been around so long and read so much he really should be classed as a genius, spent his time teaching Stiles. He probably learned more in the mornings with Isaac than he ever did at school – one on one tutoring time really made a difference.

"I don't see why I have to know all this stuff." He pointed out. "I can't leave."

"You sound like Erica." Isaac snorted. "She stopped her lessons once she realised that there wasn't going to be children to teach." He tapped the top of the book. "Back to this, please."

* * *

Another month passed. Stiles went running in the morning because if he had to spend one more day locked up in the house he was going to go insane. Derek took him into the forest and showed him where was safe to go, and where was too close to the barrier. Mostly he just ran laps around the house. It was big enough that he was out of breath and sweating – he didn't need to risk going into the forest and end up running headlong into the barrier that would either kill him outright or throw him back.

* * *

They'd settled into a routine. Stiles went for a run, had breakfast, studied with Isaac, helped Boyd in the kitchen, then Erica in the rooms. But the best part of his day was that space between dinner and bed when they would sit in the library and just talk. Stiles knew that they enjoyed talking about the 'way things were' before the curse. He learned that Boyd's family were slaves that were owned by the Hale family and treated like white workers, that he was almost an adult before he'd learned how to read, and the idea of educating a black slave was shocking at the time.

He learned that Erica had hoped to become a governess and all you really needed to teach the local children back then was a basic knowledge of letters and numbers. Her mother had been the housekeeper, and had hoped that one day she'd marry well enough that she wouldn't have to work.

He learned Isaac was the son of the Butler, that he once thought he'd become a great inventor – he'd been the one to wire the house for modern electricity after reading about it in a book – but his father hoped he'd follow in his footsteps.

He learned that Derek had only been a boy, but had been considered already a man; he had an older sister (the talented Laura) and had been a bit of a trouble maker.

"If my mother ever saw me now," Erica laughed. "She'd die of shame. A woman in britches? Make-up?" She snorted. "She didn't think women were as important as men."

Stiles sat there and wondered what was going to happen to him. He was going to get old and die, without his family ever knowing – even remembering him.

"What happens, if you leave?" Stiles asked. "I mean… I know… I know people won't remember you, and I know that you'll forget here… but what **_happens_**?"

"The human staff that left, they forgot about us here, but people outside didn't remember them. They had to start all new lives, new homes… new families." Derek said. "The Loup Garou… they lost control. Became like wild animals, but worse. Most of them were hunted. That's where the werewolf legends came from. The strength and form of a wolf, but a human lust for violence and anger." He looked at Stiles. "Not all of them were killed though."

"What happened?" Stiles asked. This had to be the best horror story ever. Because he was safe here. Because it was real.

"They tried to control themselves, but never really managed. Some even manage to pass for humans. But the moon makes them mad, wild. They'll kill for sport, something a real wolf would never do."

"The deadliest of all animals is man." Boyd said, looking at the fire.

"We've been trying to track the remaining packs, but they have become so good at hiding, and we can't go after them to bring them back here." Derek said. "We think there is a pack hunting now."

Stiles was already nodding when Derek's words registered in his brain.

"The killings!" He half shouted, getting to his feet. "You think the killings are connected?" He thought about it. "The mark, the thing they carve into the bodies…"

"It's a bastardisation of our symbol." Derek said.

"They remember echoes." Erica reminded Stiles. "And this was one of them."

"They don't remember enough to control themselves." Derek said, his voice oddly soft when talking about killers.

Stiles wasn't quite sure how to take that.

* * *

Stiles was the son of a police officer, and some things didn't change no matter what. It didn't matter if John Stilinski didn't remember Stiles, Stiles remembered him – and the things he'd taught him.

"There has to be a way to break this curse." Stiles said, looking at the books in the library. "You're trying to tell me that in this place we've got nothing that talks about magic and spells?"

Isaac simply shrugged, stacking his latest books on the space they had made earlier in the week. "Do you think I'd keep that from you?" He said. "Derek has all the lore texts in his rooms, he's been going over it since he killed Peter, trying to find a way to break the curse."

"Maybe he needs a new pair of eyes." Stiles said, stalking towards the door.

"Sure. Maybe he'll rip them out of your head." Isaac muttered. Stiles pretended not to hear him as he walked boldly towards the part of the house he'd never been in since the day he tried to escape.

* * *

**_Happy Thursday!_**

**_Have a Chapter of "Robyn has been so stressed at work I'm pretty sure there isn't even plot here, and it's supposed to be Sterek but there isn't any Sterek and WTF Robyn have you forgotten what you are writing?"_**

**_Okay, so I need to inject Sterek ASAP. Tomorrow will be smutty. I've totally set it up for smut. _**

**_I also wanted to explain a few things and show a few points that I'll be developing on later – and stuff. So… sorry._**

**_I found this super frustrating to write today – I want to get to the good bits, but I need to fill out the back story and….. blah._**

**_This is not the day for me. Tomorrow, when I'm writing smut for you, should be better._**


	9. Chapter 9

Derek had rooms in what Stiles thought was the worst part of the house. By the looks of it, the 'betas' (Technical term for Lupe Garou who followed an Alpha like Derek) didn't come here – so the floors weren't polished and there were no repairs through the years.

"Yeah, we don't go near him when he's there." Erica shrugged. "He's got a temper and we don't want to annoy him in his little man cave or whatever."

So as Stiles walked he saw just how old the house was – what it might look like if it wasn't being so well maintained by the others. The paper was faded and peeling from the walls, some of the walls were even starting to come down – exposing the wooden beams and rooms beyond – dark and musty smelling. There was no light aside from what sunlight could get past the tattered drapes that covered the windows. He could see new damage as well – from where Derek had obviously had a temper tantrum.

"So, I'm here, walking." Stiles said, as he made his way through the corridor. He knew now that Derek could hear him, probably even heard him talking to Isaac earlier – the hearing of werewolves was pretty good. He figured that Derek had the room with the only door that wasn't hanging off the hinges – the rest were ripped off or smashed, so he lifted his fist and knocked.

"I'm going to come in, so if you're doing anything gross, stop it." He warned, before pushing the door open.

Inside was lit by about a million candles – and a fire that cracked brightly. It took a while for Stiles eyes – which had been walking through the semi darkness for a while – to adjust. And when they did, he let out a whimper. "Seriously? All these candles and all this paper? Dude, you're going to end up setting fire to the whole house."

"Why are you here?" Derek growled, not moving from his spot on the floor. He was sitting in front of the fire – using the light to study a faded sheet.

"I want to help you find a way to break the curse." He said, suddenly realising just how stupid that sounded. "Fresh pair of eyes." He pointed out. "Helps sometimes."

He was seriously expecting Derek to tell him to fuck off – but the Alpha just shrugged at the piles of paper.

"There isn't anything here." He said, sounding strangely defeated. "I've been doing this for 200 years and there is **_nothing_**."

"Yeah, well…" Stiles grinned. "You didn't have the smarted Stilinski in a generation around before, did you?"

* * *

Stiles ate in Derek's room, still reading. From what he was learning, the Hale family knew a lot of stuff, but not a lot of magic. They dealt with herbs and medicines – pretty cutting edge for the time, but sadly out of date now. There wasn't a single thing about spells. Derek had left him to it, mostly, only talking to him if Stiles needed to ask a question – or a translation – some of the stuff was still in the original French.

"You can eat with the others." Derek pointed out, as Stiles fork hovered between his mouth and the plate for longer than necessary.

"No, I'm good." He replied, turning the page and putting down the fork. "It says here that they were using St Johns wart to help the 'low spirits' – like ghosts?"

"Like depression." Derek replied, refilling Stiles glass with dark red wine. "It's a herbal anti-depressant."

Stiles nodded and took another drink. He'd gotten into the habit of taking a glass of wine with his meal, because that's what the others did. The first time he'd ended up drinking way too much and needed to be carried to his room by Isaac. If his dad could remember him, he'd probably be furious at him drinking – but hell, the man didn't even know is name, so Stiles figured he was good to have a glass or two.

"Do you use other sources?" Stiles asked, looking around the room with its flickering candles. Pretty romantic, really, with the fireplace and the soft lighting – the food and the wine. If, you know, he wasn't focuses on breaking a 200 year old witches curse.

"This is all we have." Derek pointed out. He was sitting opposite Stiles at the makeshift table that was made up of a door and some books to prop it off the ground, eyes fixed on his plate. Stiles totally wasn't noticing the way he'd shoved his sleeve up, showing his muscular forearms in the soft candle light. He also wasn't noticing the fact that they'd been in isolation for the best part of the day and Derek hadn't yelled at him once – a new record.

Stiles hadn't come out to his friends and family yet, but he knew Jackson knew that he wasn't exactly straight, and the longer he found himself hanging around Derek, the more his body was reminding him that Derek was super-hot – **_supernaturally_** hot – and Stiles was a 17 year old boy trapped in a mansion that time forgot with no hope of leaving… with alcohol. He was so screwed.

Just not in the way he wanted.

* * *

Derek tried to keep his mind on the food and not the smell that was driving him insane. For the past few weeks, his new houseguest had been getting more and more comfortable in the house, injecting a little life into the place, making Erica laugh and giving Isaac something to do other than just sit in the library and read – even Boyd had started to come back out of the kitchen and actually **_talk_**.

Derek had forgotten what it was like to have someone new in the house, he still got taken off guard by the new scent in the house sometimes, before he remembered that Stiles was there. That he wasn't leaving.

That he was there.

Like now, when he was sitting in Derek's room, his personal space, like it wasn't important. He didn't even let Isaac in here, and he'd known Isaac his whole life – or Erica, who'd helped with Nurse when he was a boy and always slipped him a treat or two when he'd been punished for misbehaving. Sometimes he forgot that they were actually older than him – trapped eternally as teenagers while he aged to maturity.

They couldn't leave. They knew that. They remembered what it was like, watching as the others left through the years – how they'd descended into madness until there was nothing left of the people they'd once been. But after the year was up, Stiles could still leave. He'd forget all about them. He'd never remember what had happened, like a missing year – amnesia, they called it now.

He'd probably even be able to get a decent life back in his hometown, even though he'd be alone. Maybe he'd even go somewhere new, where no one would know him, and start a whole new life.

While Derek and the others would watch him through the mirror. And Derek knew he'd watch.

He knew he'd not be able to give up on the spark that had burst into their lives and changed them in small ways. Erica laughing. Really, honestly, laughing. Giving Isaac some purpose, showing Boyd that the colour if his skin wasn't something that would separate him from conversation. Things Derek wanted to make happen but just didn't know how, Stiles did automatically. The world had changed. Derek had gotten used to Erica copying fashions from the outside world, but he knew that Boyd still couldn't get used to the skirts and the tight jeans she wore – a 200 year old crush that never went any further because he still thought he was less than she was.

Now Derek was trying to ignore the fact that Stiles heart rate would get higher when he walked into a room – fear at first, which was something Derek had come to accept, but now? When they had been sitting together for hours without anything going wrong – without Derek acting like a child or losing his temper – there was no explanation.

Well, there **_was_** an explanation, Derek just didn't want to look at it too closely because… because Stiles was just a child – over 200 years younger than him which was quite an age gap, and when Derek had been cut off from the rest of the world he was only a boy himself. He'd never been romantically involved with anyone – He'd once kissed a serving girl by the stables, but he wasn't sure that counted.

He wasn't even sure he was picking up on the right scents. He didn't have anyone to ask. Maybe Erica would know – but he wasn't about to ask his beta about **_sex_**.

* * *

"So?" Isaac said, sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Boyd was standing awkwardly to one side, but Isaac was ignoring his discomfort. "What happened?"

"Nothing." The older boy said. "They were reading."

"Together?"

"No, Derek was reading some lose papers and Stiles had a book."

"Were they talking?" Erica asked. Boyd wouldn't even look at her, and Isaac resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 200 years of sexual tension wore you down eventually.

"No."

"Did he drink the wine?"

"I think so." Boy replied. "I don't like spying."

"It's not spying." Erica replied. "It's making sure Derek isn't always going to be alone. You know he's getting worse."

"It's not my place."

"It's going to become an issue." Erica disagreed. "His temper has been growing for years. He's worse now than he was when he was a boy, and you remember the fits they used to have."

"But what happens when Stiles leaves?"

"Who said he'll leave?" Isaac pointed out. "A year is a long time."

Erica nodded. "His family don't remember him."

"He'll be all alone." Isaac added. "He might decide to stay. And if he stays, we don't need to worry about Derek going mad anymore."

* * *

Stiles wasn't drunk, but he wasn't exactly sober either. "You know, maybe you're looking in the wrong places." He said after a while, pushing his plate away. He'd not managed to eat much because he'd been too distracted by the man sitting... he'd been too distracted by the books. **_Books_**. Yeah. The Books.

"This is all I have." Derek pointed out.

"Yeah, but… dude, Google? Have you tried Google?"

"I looked for magic and all that came up were sites about candles and female empowerment." Derek snapped. "It's useless."

Stiles laughed, he couldn't help it. Pushing up to his feet and ignoring the irate expression on Derek's face – he held out his hand. "Follow me, young padawan." He grinned. "And let me show you that Google-fu is strong with this one."

* * *

Derek let Stiles pull him through the house, pleased that his Beta's were nowhere in sight. He didn't need them seeing the way he trailed after Stiles like a puppy. Or the expression on his face when Stiles dragged him into his bedroom.

"Okay!" Stiles said, pushing Derek into the chair beside the writing desk he was keeping his new laptop on. "Looking for stuff like witches and magic on the internet will get to fuck all." He said. "It's like typing in 'snitch' and being surprised when you get pictures of porn when you were looking for quiddich."

Stiles was leaning over the arm of the chair as he opened the website, and Derek could smell the soap he used, covering a fresh tang of sweat, wine and the peppercorn in the sauce that had covered the steak. He could hear each breath and every thud-thud of his heart and even worse – that musky scent of sex that seemed to follow him everywhere recently. Derek could remember being 17. He could have gotten hard over Latin verb usage. He wondered if Stiles had the same issues.

* * *

Stiles was using the internet to distract himself from the fact that he'd used the word 'porn' in front of a guy he seriously wanted to **_make_** porn with – and the fact that if he got any harder he was going to burst out of his jeans and die of shame. He typed like a man possessed, trying to keep his mind on breaking the curse.

"What was she called?" He asked, hyper aware that he was leaning too close to Derek, but unable to move away. "The woman that cast the curse?"

"Argent." Derek said, and Stiles could feel the heat of his breath over his skin at the words. "Catherine. At least, that's what she told us." He paused, and turned his head slightly to face Stiles, and damn, if his mouth wasn't just right there. "It was hundreds of years ago." He pointed out, and Stiles was not going to turn his head, because that would mean that they'd be almost kissing and Stiles wasn't sure his heart would be able to take that, but his body had a different plan.

"Doesn't matter," He said, turning to face Derek. "There are loads of-" He didn't get any further.

* * *

Derek was sure that Stiles had kissed him first, but then something took control of his body and he was out of the chair, pushing Stiles back against the writing table and Stiles hands were gripping fistfuls of his shirt, pulling their bodies closer together and Derek was only able to think about the things he wanted.

He wanted **_more_**.

* * *

Stiles grabbed at Derek's shoulders and lifted himself up onto the desk so he could sit – pulling the werewolf between his legs and grinding forward, body seeking some kind of friction. Derek was sucking bruises into the skin of his neck, right over the jugular and Stiles was sure he wasn't imagining the sharp prick of teeth when the older man bit lightly. "Fuck." Stiles hissed, bucking up at the pierce of pain and pleasure that washed through his body. "Is that going to turn me?"

"No." Derek mumbled into his neck, and Stiles could feel the sharpness of nails in his back where Derek was holding him tightly even as the Alpha obviously tried to relax his grip. "Sorry." He said, pulling back so that Stiles could see his face – eyes glowing red and teeth long and sharp in his mouth.

"Don't mind." Stiles said, rocking forward so their hips ground together. "I liked it."

Derek let out a feral growl – Stiles wasn't sure what he was responding to, the admission or the movement, but it got him what he wanted – Derek's teeth on his skin and a replying roll of hips that had Stiles whimpering with need.

His hands were still gripping Derek's shirt as though it was the only thing keeping him afloat, and Stiles managed to unclench his fists from the material as Derek sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin of his neck.

Running his hands down the Alphas body, Stiles could make out the hard strips of muscle that he'd known Derek would have. He finally managed to find the hem of the shirt, and slipped both hands under – touching the superheated skin of the werewolf for the first time.

Derek's response was instant – he pulled back, leaving Stiles sitting on the edge of the writing desk staring at him with slightly glazed eyes. "Sorry?" Stiles guessed, not quite sure if he'd done something wrong or not. One moment Derek had been all for it, and the next he was standing in the middle of the room, hazel eyes and an expression of shell shock Stiles probably thought mirrored his own. "Did you not like that?" He asked, because – fuck – if Derek didn't like being touched this whole thing was dead before it was even alive, Stiles was working on pure lust fuelled adrenaline and all he could think about was getting his hands **_all_** over the wolf.

"I shouldn't do this." Derek said, and Stiles found himself snorting in response.

"Yeah, yeah – you should. On the list of things you need to do, Stiles Stilinski should be number one." He said, sliding off the edge of the desk and walking on slightly unsteady legs towards the Alpha. "Unless you're not into guys." He added. "That would suck. Not in the fun way that I had planned on happeni-"

Derek grabbed him by the shoulders and held him at arm's length. "Not like this." He said, before practically running out of the room – the door slamming behind him.

Standing in the middle of his room, harder than he'd ever been in his life (including that time he'd first kissed Paul and a whole new word of 'right' opened up to him) and very aware that he'd just been cockblocked, Stiles glared at the door.

"Tease!" He yelled, knowing that Derek would be able to hear him.

* * *

Erica, Isaac and Boyd, who'd heard Derek slam the door and Stiles shout echo through the house, winced. They expected the Alpha to start throwing things, which is what he'd normally do when anything happened he wasn't happy about – but it never happened.

"Maybe he-" Isaac started to say, but Boyd waved a frantic hand at him to stop. Luckily he did, because a few moments later, Derek pushed open the door and glared at them.

"Hi, Boss." Erica smiled, the same one she used to give him when he was a kid and she was trying to coax a smile from him. He didn't look angry.

"I need your help." He said, after a long moment. "I don't know what to do."

* * *

**_Happy Friday! (At last!)_**

**_Have a titchy bit of smut!_**

**_I was going to throw myself into scads of writing smut, and then I thought about it for a while and remembered that Derek was only a kid, and most of his life he's been living with people who were (at first) his servants, and then later his betas. He's not got a frickin clue about how to act around people and he most certainly doesn't know about relationships beyond the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. _**

**_So… a little smut, bit not a lot. _**

**_Expect more. Lots more. I've got a list of things that Erica has found on the internet that she thinks would be fun to try. ;)_**

**_Hope you all have a good weekend and I'll see you on Monday!_**


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles woke up with what he could only describe as a 'regret hangover'. Derek was hot as hell, seemingly interested in him – Derek had been the one to start the kiss, Stiles was sure – but not interested enough to follow through. Now Stiles head was hurting and he was pretty sure that he wasn't going to be able to look anyone in the eye this morning.

Everyone was going to know that he threw himself at Derek and had been turned down. The worst past was, he knew he wasn't going to be able to stick his head in the sand and pretend it didn't happen, because there were only the 5 of them in the house.

He groaned, rolling over onto his face. Pain shot through his body, muscles cramping at the sensation. For a moment he could hardly breathe, and then, as quickly as it had come… it was over.

Stiles blinked, sitting up. "What the fuck was that?" He asked the empty room, kicking back the covers and crawling out of the large bed.

He walked through to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was… not pleasant. His neck was covered in bites and bruises, black scabs forming over where Derek had bitten him, purple marks over his jugular and brown, dried blood from where he'd obviously been bleeding in the night.

"Shit." He whispered, touching the marks. Oddly, they didn't hurt – only the bruises were sensitive to touch, and the dull ache when he pressed on them seemed to throb through his body, settling low in his body – blood rushing to his cock. Stiles let his fingers drop from his neck and grimaced at his reflection. "I am not a 15 year old tween. I do **_not_** have a werewolf fetish." He told his mirror image. "I am **_not_** team Jacob."

His reflection didn't look too convinced.

* * *

Stiles took longer in the bathtub than normal, gingerly washing the dried blood from his neck as he tried not to touch the scabs that had formed in the night. It was gross and shouldn't have made him hard, but it did – he'd already jacked of twice the night before – and it looked like today wasn't going to be much better.

He grabbed a pair of jeans – new, because his old ones were ruined from his great escape that turned out to be more Mr. Bean than James Dean – and grabbed one of the new shirts that he'd ordered online with the new card that Derek had handed him.

Boyd was in the kitchens when Stiles finally worked up the courage to leave his room and make his way toward the smell of food.

"Hi, dude." He said, looking nervously around as he walked into the large kitchen. Boyd was the only one there, and Stiles felt his shoulders relax with a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding.

"Good Morning." Boyd replied, deep voice carrying over the room from where he stood. "You missed breakfast."

"Yeah, I um… I took a longer bath." Stiles shrugged, going for relaxed and probably missing it by a mile. "Any leftovers?"

Boyd waved a hand over to one of the large ovens and smiled. "I managed to save you some."

"Thanks dude!" Stiles said when he saw the amount that Boyd had kept aside. "I could eat a horse."

* * *

Derek was sitting in Erica's room – which had, before the spell it, been his cousins room. Erica had lived in the servants' quarters with Isaac and the rest of the staff. All that had changed. Now, she slept on silk sheets and rolled her eyes at him in a way that would have once gotten her fired had his father seen it – or worse, if her **_mother_** had caught her sassing the Lord of the houses son.

Derek remembered her, she hadn't gotten older since the bite, but she'd changed everything else. She kept up with current fashion outside their bubble of time, changed her hair so many times it was hard to remember that it had once been hidden under caps and pinned away, wore short skirts and make-up and had fought with Isaac so often on the matter of her rights that Derek had been required to step in and inform all three of them that in the eyes of him, the law and any decent person, they were equal. The race, gender or even sexual preference of his betas was not an issue. It took Boyd longer to come to terms with that, Derek still worried that he'd never quite outgrow what had been a serious issue when he'd been a boy.

"You need to woo him." Erica announced, handing Derek a stack of magazines that she'd pulled out from under the bed. "All these here, they tell you how to get a man."

Derek flipped through the pages and rolled his eyes. "Draw attention to your best features by using some subtle make-up?" He scoffed. "Erica, these are for women."

"So?" She bit out. "It's all I've got. Some of this is… pointless…" She said, snatching back the magazine in his hand with a glare. "These are a few years old, but I liked the make-up on the models." She said, flipping through pages faster than Derek would have. These were obviously well read pamphlets. "Here!" She announced. "Spend time with him doing something that you both enjoy." She read. "Perhaps a picnic in the park or a walk around an art gallery." She paused. "So maybe that won't really work, but you both like doing research, right?"

"I'd rather do something more enjoyable." Derek muttered, which caused Erica to snort with laughter. "Not that." He hissed. It was a bad idea to ask Erica for help.

"This seems good." Isaac commented, looking up from the magazine he'd been flipping through. "10 ways to tell if he likes you." He looked up, "It's in question form." He cleared his throat. "Does he find excuses to stay near you?" He asked.

"No." Derek muttered, before Erica cut him off.

"Yes, he offered to help with the spell."

"That's a tick here." Isaac nodded. "Is he-"

"Is he trapped in a house with you for the better part of a year with no hope of escape due to a witches curse?" Derek asked, pointedly. "Is there a tick for that too?"

* * *

"You feeling okay?" Boyd asked in his deep voice as Stiles ate everything on the plate. He'd never been so damn hungry in his life before.

"Yeah." Stiles shrugged. "Just… you know."

"I do."

Stiles kicked back in the chair and looked around. "Do you just stay here all day?" He asked. The kitchens were large, obviously made for a whole army of cooks and people, much too large for 4 – even if the 4 it was serving ate like wolves.

"Yes." Boyd shrugged. "I don't feel comfortable in the house, but I enjoy cooking."

"Why don't you like the house? Too big?" Stiles asked. "It kinda freaks me out too."

"My parents worked on the land." Boyd said. "We would not have been allowed into the house without permission." He looked around. "Some things are hard to forget."

"Sorry." Stiles said, feeling guilty. "Sometimes it's really hard to remember that everything you learn about in history class actually happened to you."

"The Hales were good people. Too good, it caused trouble sometimes; they thought black folks were just like white folks – Derek too." He shrugged again. "Isaac isn't any better than me because he's white. He taught me to read and write and talk like a gentleman, but I aint one."

* * *

Derek looked down at the list Erica had drawn up, made from the 'best' of the advice that had been in her glossy magazines.

"Dress your best." Was one of them, and now he was arguing that there was nothing wrong with what he was wearing.

"I'm not wearing those." He said, stabbing the computer screen with a finger. "No." The skinny jeans Erica wanted to put him in looked like ladies tights, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to walk in them.

"They are fashionable." She pouted. "You'd look good in them."

"No."

* * *

"Erica seems to be pretty… forward." Stiles supplied. "She's not like Isaac or even Derek."

"She embraced the modern much quicker than we did." Boyd said with a smile. "She enjoys the clothes and the freedoms of this time."

"What about you?" Stiles asked. "You miss the 'britches and stockings'?"

Boyd laughed, it was a great sound, warm and open. "No." He grinned. "I'm a jeans guy – I just didn't know it back then."

* * *

"I don't smell." Derek glared.

"I think it means using scents." Isaac pointed out, not at all helpfully.

"Perfume." Derek hissed.

"Aftershave." Erica pointed out. "Makes you smell more attractive to humans."

"Didn't you try this once?" Derek asked her, darkly. "You bought a bottle of the stuff and we had to bury it in the garden it smelt so bad."

"It's nice to humans." She said.

"I'm not wearing scent." Derek growled. "If I can't smell anything other than the chemicals they put in it, how am I supposed to cope?"

"He's got a point."

"Shut up, Isaac."

* * *

Stiles noticed that most of Boyd's conversations managed to loop back to Erica at some point, mentioning that recipe she liked, or how well she adapted, or how she wanted to go to the mall – everything they talked about managed to work its way back to the blond girl.

"You know, I thought Erica and Isaac were related when I first saw them." He admitted. "They look a **_lot_** alike."

"It wasn't so obvious when they were children." Boyd nodded. "But when they got older, people commented."

"On?"

"Isaac was born around the same time as Erica, and his father was… very similar in looks to Isaac."

"He was hot." Stiles supplied. When Boyd gave him a pointed look, Stiles shrugged. "What? He's good looking. You'd have to be dead not to notice. So his dad was hot, and…?"

"Erica's mother was quite plain, and her husband was master of the stables. He… enjoyed the company of the stable hands more than his wife."

"Gay." Stiles clarified. "Bored housewife, gay husband, good looking other man… I see where this is going. Who'd have thought 200 years ago there was all this 'Desperate Housewives' crap going on?"

"It took many years for Erica and Isaac to come to terms with their relationship. I doubt they would ever had mentioned it if the circumstances were different." Boyd said. "But they are now quite content to be… siblings."

"Were they into each other?" Stiles asked, because that would suck balls to find out you were trying to get it on with your own sister. Half-sister. Either way – gross.

"Romantically?" Boyd scoffed. "No. Never." He paused. "Erica never thought of him in that way."

"Why?" Stiles asked, wondering if Boyd knew about the big fat crush Erica had on him.

"No idea." He said, looking away.

So he knew, then.

* * *

"Talk about your mutual interests."

"We don't have any mutual interests!" Derek said, wishing he'd never asked for advice. This was a torture he could have lived his whole life without. "He's 17 years old and I'm over two-hundred and thirty, I was born in a completely different **_era_**."

"Perhaps if you talk to him, you'll be able to find something out that you both like." Erica supplied, too helpfully. "Like books or clothes. Maybe he likes art."

Derek glared.

* * *

Boyd had clammed up after Stiles round of questioning, going no further and almost kicking him out of the kitchen. Rather than go back into the house Stiles decided to walk around the gardens. They were well kept – although Stiles had never seen anyone work on them, and the roses looked like they were fake, each one of them looked perfect.

Stiles wondered if that had something to do with the spell. Nothing looked old. Nothing. No matter how great they were at keeping the house clean and tidy, eventually there would be some wear and tear. After 224 years, something would rust, or break, or simply fall apart – but nothing like that seemed to be happening. Everything looked new.

Most mornings, Stiles would take a run around the house – it was huge, much larger than anything Stiles had ever seen. He'd explored most of the house, the ballroom (they had a ballroom, with a huge 'Phantom of the Opera' style chandelier hanging from the roof) the 'wine cellar' that was literally packed with bottles of wine and champagne – he'd seen almost every room in the place.

The gardens were awesome though. They had the kitchen gardens that stocked all the vegetables they needed – obviously that had once been much larger, but had shrunk over the years. They even had a glasshouse that grew more tropical fruits – the rose gardens too – but the best part, the very best part, was the maze.

Stiles got lost the first three times he'd been in it; the hedges were tall enough that he couldn't see over the tops. The fourth time he found the centre – a large pond with a little island in the middle that was big enough for a gazebo. It was probably the prettiest thing that Stiles had ever seen in his life, something he knew his mom would just adore – she loved going to garden centres and dreaming that 'one day' they'd have a house big enough so that they didn't trip over each other and she could have a pond in the garden.

Stiles kicked off his shoes and pulled his socks off – the water was cool and deeper than it looked, he'd learned that the first time he'd found the place and had fallen in. He sat on the edge and dipped his feet in the water, letting the sun beat down on his head.

He'd been there a month. A full month – and no matter how often he looked through the mirror, he knew that there was no one waiting for him on the other side of the barrier.

* * *

Scott saw the blue Jeep at the garage when he went past on his bike and something about it was familiar – deeply familiar, like he'd seen it every day for his whole life, so often that he just didn't **_see_** it any more, it was just part of the background.

There was a 'for sale' sign stuck to the windscreen.

"Excuse me?" He called out, looking at the Jeep as he walked through the open doors.

"Yeah?" A burly man asked, blue overalls spotted with grease and oil.

"The Jeep – the blue one outside – who did it belong to?"

The mechanic (Joe, going on the name stitched into his overalls) looked suddenly very suspicious. "Who wants to know?"

"Me." Scott shrugged. "I've been saving up, and it's in my price range." He lied. "My dad said I could get a car as long as I paid for it. I just want to know who owned it before, you know, make sure they weren't in a crash or anything."

"I'll get the paperwork." Joe grinned, looking a lot friendlier now that he thought he was getting a sale. Scott couldn't take his eyes off the Jeep. It was beaten-up, paint chipped in places, and had obviously been through hell before finding itself in the garage – but there was just something about it.

Joe walked back through, papers in his hands. "It's been here for about a month." He shrugged. "Paperwork got a bit damaged." He handed the crumpled sheets to Scott who scanned them over quickly.

The name under 'Previous Owner' was badly smudged, so he couldn't make out the surname, but he could read the first name easily enough.

**_Stiles_**.

He blinked, and then looked again, and sure enough, the name was there. Stiles, right beside a smudge that could possibly have been Stilinski before it had gotten grease over it.

**_Stiles_**.

The name in the closet. The one that sounded so familiar, and that Jeep…

"Can I get a copy of this?" He asked, handing them back. "Dad's the sheriff; he'll want to check it out." He added, just in case 'Joe' decided not to be helpful.

Something was up, and Scott was going to figure it out. His dad wasn't the sheriff for nothing. Some things just ran in the blood.

* * *

**_Happy Monday!_**

**_Have a chapter._**

**_Hope you all had a good weekend – I started my Supernatural 'Monster of the Week' story this weekend, so for me it was pretty productive – and a good change from TeenWolf. I do love my Sterek, but sometimes you need a little change to keep it fresh._**

**_Expect more Scott. I've always side-lined him as a character or made him the 'bad friend' in my stories and it's a bit unfair – he is the main character in the show, after all._**

**_Hope you like it._**

**_I've just worked out that I've only got 9 weeks before my Marathon and I'm really not prepared AT ALL._**


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles sat, feet in the cool water, closed his eyes and thought about his choices when this year was over. He could go home, but no one would remember him – and he wasn't sure if he could stand to look at his mom and just have her eyes glide over him, a person in a crowd that meant no more to her than a person behind her in the store, or a nameless face in a photo.

He wasn't sure if he could stand his dad not knowing who he was – or Scott, or Jackson. God, how would he be able to move on with his life if he didn't have his family there?

There was the option of going somewhere new – just getting on a bus with the card that Derek gave him, get a small apartment and a job in a big city, forget his past and just focus on his future.

Then… he would only have a day to remember what happened in this place. Derek had made that quite clear. Stay away longer than a day and you forget. Would he be on the bus and suddenly forget why he was leaving his family? Try to go home and not know why his family didn't remember him?

Or he could stay.

"You look serious." A voice said, with a tinge of worry. Stiles opened his eyes, only to be blinded by the sunlight, and turned his head towards the voice. Derek was standing there, and he'd done something… Different.

"What happened to your hair?" He asked, he was pretty sure last night it had been a little longer – a little less gelled at the top.

"Erica." Derek said, and Stiles was sure his ears were going pinker – although that could have just been his eyes still adjusting to the light.

"Look's good." Stiles said, trying to smile. "You suit it."

Derek shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal – just hair cut – but Stiles got the feeling there was more to it. Why change what was obviously a long time look for him. He looked less 'wild man' and more 'wild sex' which was a win in his book, but Derek hadn't seemed all that concerned about his 'look' before.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Home." Stiles said, without thinking. "Just wondering what I was going to do, you know?" He looked back down at the water where the little fish were swimming around his feet. "Gives me a headache to think that I won't remember – or be remembered – and I just… I don't know what do."

He wiggled his toes in the water, and the fish scattered. "You've got a long time to think about it." Derek pointed out, which kind of helped, but at the same time… it kind of didn't.

"11 months and counting." Stiles said, as Derek sat on the stone bench that overlooked the small pond and island.

"Laura… she loved it here." Derek said after a while. "She painted."

Stiles nodded, it would be nice to paint here, the colours were nice and the little fish were interesting enough. He could never sit still long enough to actually do anything like draw – his brain wouldn't focus on anything long enough.

But right then, with his feet in the water and Derek sitting behind him, Stiles was able to relax just a little bit. He had 11 months before he needed to work out what was going on.

* * *

Scott knew something was going on. He was starting to notice little things that were all adding up to something… weird. Like how his xbox had three controllers. Like how half the clothes in his closet didn't fit anyone in the house but were still in the laundry. Like how half his room seemed different to the other half – like how everything felt **_wrong_**.

He felt like he'd forgotten his homework – and his teachers had noticed that his grades were dropping, in the last month he'd failed almost everything, and it was only getting worse. There was an empty locker and a space on the lacrosse team, which didn't make sense because Scott remembered that **_he_** got the last space – despite Jacksons complaints.

There was a space beside him in Chemistry, and he needed a new lab partner – which felt… weird. Oh, and there was the fact that he couldn't get the name 'Stiles' out of his head since he'd seen it carved into the closest.

"Jackson, I'm being serious, okay?" He insisted. "Something is weird."

"The only thing weird here is **_you_**." His brother replied, clicking on his laptop.

Scott glared. Jackson was a dick, a total dick, but he could normally be relied on to at least listen if he thought Scott was being serious.

"There is something going on with this Stiles." He repeated – only to be cut off by Jackson slamming the laptop shut.

"No, there isn't." He snapped, getting to his feet. "Mom and Dad have never even heard of him, okay? It's not weird, those aren't his clothes – he's not on the lacrosse team, there isn't any mention of him in the school records, and there hadn't been anyone, **_ever_**, called Stiles Stilinski in this town!"

Scott watched as Jackson got to his feet and stalked out of the sitting room, laptop in his hands. He heard him climb the stairs and even the slam of his bedroom door that seemed to rattle all through the house, before he realised something.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran up the stairs and pounded on his big brothers door. "What do you mean, there isn't a record of him at school?" He shouted through the door. "How do you know that?"

The door burst open, sending Scott sprawling across the floor. "How the hell do you think?" He snapped, standing over Scott laying on the ground. "I broke in to the principal's office and took a look."

"Why?"

"Why the hell do you think?" Jackson shot back. "To find out what the **_hell_** is going on."

* * *

"You know what I don't get?" Stiles asked, after a while. "Is why you made a stupid ass deal like 'the first thing you see' with my dad. It's a stupid plan, like, the most idiotic thing I've ever heard of in my life." He paused. "And I've got two big brothers so I've heard a lot of stupid plans through the years."

"It's usually a pet or something." Derek said, sounding uncomfortable.

"Yeah, but you could have asked for anything. You could have just let him leave without the papers he took – which I looked at, by the way, and they don't help – and he wouldn't have remembered a damn thing the next day."

"I could have killed him, and no one would have remembered." Derek growled. "I made the right decision."

"Yeah, but why did you-"

"Erica wanted a pet." He bit out.

Stiles blinked. He took a deep breath and he blinked again.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He let out, slowly. "She wanted a pet."

"We had a dog," Derek said, looking anywhere but at Stiles. "I made a deal like that before, and the man saw a dog." He looked at his shoes. "It had fleas and didn't look like any breed I knew – but Erica liked it."

"What was he called?"

"Dog."

Stiles snorted. When Derek glanced up at him with a look that clearly said he didn't get the joke, Stiles rolled his eyes. "You could have named him anything, and you stuck with **_dog_**?" He rolled his eyes. "How long ago was this?"

"About 20 years ago." Derek said.

"So I'm the new pet."

Derek laughed. "The dog was easier to control."

* * *

"You broke into the office?"

"Yes."

"And you stole files?"

"I didn't steal anything." Jackson spat. "I just read them."

"And?"

"And what?" His brother said. "There wasn't anything about a Stiles Stilinski."

"Why did you even look?" Scott asked. He was sitting on the floor in Jacksons room, much tidier than his, while his brother sat on the edge of the bed.

"Something Lydia said." Jackson shrugged. "She keeps asking where Stiles is, like I'm supposed to know what she's talking about."

"Lydia knows who he is?" Scott asked.

"Yeah." Jackson nodded, looking slightly worried. "Apparently, he's our brother – and he's been missing for a month."

"I think we need to get Lydia here." Scott said, feeling slightly sick. Because something there… something in the way Jackson said brother… Scott could remember a pair of gold eyes, pale skin… and a blue jeep.

* * *

Stiles didn't mean to kick water up at Derek for the 'easier to control' comment, but his brain wasn't connected to the rest of his body at the best of times, and suddenly Derek was dripping. "You'll pay for that." He growled, leaping for Stiles.

Which was why Stiles was standing hip deep in water, feet slipping on the smooth bottom of the manmade pond, trying to breathe after being dunked.

Derek was spluttering too, though, because Stiles wasn't going down alone, and had grabbed him. The fish were probably scarred for life.

And then Derek kissed him. Or Stiles kissed Derek. He couldn't quite remember, and it really didn't matter, because now they were kissing, and damn.

Derek had a serious obsession with biting, and Stiles was more than happy to go along with it – especially as each nip sent a sharp bolt of need through Stiles body. Unfortunately, this was the point where his feet, still struggling to find a grip on the smooth surface, slipped – and he ended up pulling both of them under the water.

"Okay!" He gasped, as he scrambled to the side of the pond. "This kind of thing needs to be kept in the pages of my mom's romance novels." He said, hauling his soaking body out of the water. "Because there is no way this is going to work without at least one of us drowning, and I really don't want to have to explain to Isaac how I managed to kill his Alpha."

Derek actually looked sheepish as he pulled his – holy fucking hell, the man looked good with his black jeans plastered to his body, and the t-shirt clinging to abs that really, really could hold the attention of a horny 17 year old like you couldn't believe. Stiles knew he was staring. He also knew that the head he was thinking with wasn't **_anywhere_** near his skull.

His jeans were soaking – there wasn't a hope in hell that Derek wouldn't be able to tell that he wasn't hard as a damn rock – but then, he couldn't take his eyes off of Derek long enough to check if it really was obvious.

"You need to stop looking at me like that." Derek told him, a low growl under his words as he spoke.

"Yeah, no." Stiles said. "Can't. Seventeen years old, brain is hardwired for sex. I'm at my peek." He said, "You know that sitting around in wet clothes is bad for your health?" He added. "You should take those wet things off."

"If I did that," Derek said, looking at Stiles like he really, really could just take a big ass bite right out of him, "Then things will get complicated."

"I like complicated." Stiles said, brain being completely over-ridden by his mouth. He knew he sounded like every single desperate teenager that ever walked the earth, but he really, really needed to get Derek out of those clothes. He needed to get himself out of his clothes. Clothes were evil.

* * *

"You people are idiots!" Lydia snapped, glaring at Jackson and then at Scott with a look that clearly stated that they were both in serious trouble. "He's your brother! How the hell can you not remember him?"

Scott looked at Jackson, who looked at him and shrugged. "Look, Lydia, we don't know what you're talking about."

"He's your **_brother_**!" She yelled. "People are looking at me like **_I'm_** insane. You can't even remember Stiles – you know? Stiles? This high? Gold eyes, pale, scrawny, falls over a lot? Gay as a fucking rainbow? **_STILES_**!"

"The only gay brother I have is Scott." Jackson said, smirking – which earned him a punch from Scott and a glare from his girlfriend that clearly said he was never getting a blowjob ever again.

"Stiles Stilinski." She repeated. "Has been missing for a month, and apparently, I'm the only one who can even remember him."

* * *

Stiles Stilinski let out a groan that was two parts pain and three parts holy-shit-I'm-going-to-die-of-awesome when Derek bit into the thicker muscle of his shoulder, rutting up helplessly in his soaking jeans. Everything was red and hot and good – the sharp prick of nails in his scalp and on his hip as Derek pinned him to the ground, how Derek ran hotter than a normal person, how the muscles of his skin bunched and flexed under Stiles blunt nails – holding on tight enough to cause bruises and not hard enough.

He was going to end up cumming in his jeans just at the feeling of Derek's teeth, and fuck – that had to be all colours of wrong, but he just couldn't stop the way he reacted.

The wet denim, the only thing they both were wearing, chaffed and rubbed, cold and clammy – and yet Stiles still hadn't managed to form thought long enough to take them off. He was lucky he was even able to remember to **_breathe_**.

Derek had him pinned to the grass, a fist in his hair anchoring his head so that he could get a better angle at his neck, which Stiles knew he was bleeding to much – he just couldn't find it in him to care. The other had was on his hip, keeping Stiles from bucking up like he wanted, stopping him from getting the friction he desperately needed to get off.

And Derek just kept growling. The vibrations through his body were keeping Stiles on a knife edge, and he couldn't help the whimpers that were escaping his lips. He arched his back as Derek pulled away, hot tongue running over the bite he'd made. When he pulled further back, Stiles could see his red eyes, the bright red of his blood on Dereks lips, his chin. Unthinking, he grabbed a fist of Derek's hair and kissed him hard, the sharp metallic tang of his own blood filling his mouth. Derek rocked his hips forward, grinding hard into Stiles, finally giving him something to rut against.

His wet jeans were so tight it was almost painful, but Stiles had passed the point when he cared, grabbing on to Dereks back with one hand and moulding their bodies together as well as he could – and whimpered as Derek bit his lip, pulling with sharp teeth and sending a spasm of need through his spine even as blood filled his mouth.

He started to shake, body shivering as he rutted his denim covered cock against Derek's thigh – and the groan that left his lips as he came, white hot and desperate – was the last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

Isaac heard the howl of his beta even though he was in the library – and blinked. They'd not parted on the best of terms, Derek didn't like the new haircut Erica had given him, even though it did suit him better, but they'd not heard anything from either Derek or Stiles since then and Erica had been happy to say that she'd heard… **_things_**… in the garden, so they'd just left them to get on with it.

But that howl wasn't good.

He was running to the doors, only a few steps behind Boyd, when they burst open, and Derek, covered in blood that wasn't his, fell through.

In his arms, paler that anyone should be, was Stiles – breathing shallowly.

"I don't know what happened." Derek said, looking at Boyd, panic over his face. "What have I done?"

* * *

**_Happy Tuesday!_**

**_Have a chapter._**

**_Scott and Jackson and Lydia being team super sleuths! I didn't know I wanted this till I started writing it. _**

**_Well… just a wee authors note tonight, as I'm back out again for training!_**

**_I'm going to be linking the page for the walk soonish – you don't have to donate, but a signal boost would be awesome._**

**_I'm not a fit person and this is a pretty big deal for me!_**

**_Hope you all have a good day / night!_**

**_Love ya,_**

- **_Robyn_**


	12. Chapter 12

Scott blinked, and then blinked again. Lydia was pointing to a family picture they had over the fire – Christmas or Thanksgiving, He couldn't even remember – and told him to look.

"I am looking!" Jackson snapped, as Scott peered at the photo.

"He's right there." Lydia said, pointing to the picture. "In the red shirt."

Scott screwed up his eyes, and stared. It was like his eyes didn't want to really look at the family scene; they kept drifting over to his mom, or his dad – missing out the space between them like there was nothing there.

"Holy shit." Jackson muttered, grabbing the frame off the mantle and almost pressing his nose to the glass. "Holy shit, I see him." He turned the frame towards Scott, covering their parents with his hands. "Right there."

Scott blinked again, feeling like a total idiot, and then…

Someone was sitting between his parents. Someone in a red shirt with a wide smile, pale skin and a couple of moles. His brother. His best friend. His Call of Duty partner.

Scott felt like he'd been punched in the gut – everything started coming back. Stiles. Stiles who'd broken his arm falling out of the tree. Stiles who stood up for him when Jackson was a jerk, Stiles who helped him every night with his homework, Stiles who didn't like pears but could eat curly fries till he puked. His brother.

"Oh my god." Scott said, looking at the face more familiar to him that his own. "What the fuck is going on?"

He looked around the room, and noticed things that his eyes had been glancing over for weeks – the shoes in the hall that he hadn't noticed. The extra lacrosse stick behind his dads chair, the family photographs that all had Stiles laughing face in them. "What happened to us?" He paused, before the enormity of what had happened sunk in. "Where the hell is he?"

Jackson was looking at Lydia like he was looking at a ghost. "How did you… how are you the only one who remembered?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" She snapped, flipping her hair with a perfectly manicured hand. "All I know is one day Stiles doesn't come to school and then… bang, no one remembers him. I mean, his stuff is right here! How could you not see it?"

"Shared memory loss?" Jackson hedged, shrugging at Scott. "I mean… maybe there's like… a spore or something?"

"But where is he?" Scott repeated. "He's not here, so where is he?" He paused. "Oh my god!" He gasped. "What if the killer got him?"

"Shut up, Scott." Jackson snapped, voice tight. "We'd have heard about a body."

"What if we did and we forgot?"

"There hasn't been a body." Lydia said. "I've been trying to get his picture online, but it's not working, so I can't even register him as missing."

"I remember… dad was at a meeting." Scott said, "And he didn't come home that night."

"And he was so pissed at Stiles." Jackson added. "Remember? He grounded him, which was harsh, cause he hadn't done anything wrong."

"And we went to Warehouse without him."

"He was gonna sneak out." Jackson said. "He didn't say anything, but I knew he would, because… well… it's Stiles."

"Anything else?" Lydia asked, listening closely. Scott didn't doubt that she was memorizing everything.

"It's hard to remember." Scott said. "Alison was there."

"There was a girl!" Jackson burst out. "I remember cause she was totally hot – and hitting on him."

"What did she look like?" Lydia asked, grabbing a pen out of her pocket and starting to write on the back of some junk mail that was laying on the table.

"Blond." Jackson said. "Like, this high?" He paused. "Uh, hot? And… her jeans were tight. And there was a couple of guys with her."

"You can do better than that." Lydia bit out. "Come with me."

* * *

"What happened?" Erica asked, pulling the covers off the bed and motioning Derek to place him down. Derek did as he was told and took a step back.

"I don't know!" He said, panic gripping at him. "Things were good!"

"Why is he bleeding?" Erica asked, pressing down on the wounds on Stiles neck and shoulders, almost shredded.

"Why is he bleeding so **_much_**?" Isaac clarified – and Derek remembered that there had been a girl, once, whom Isaac had been close to. He probably knew more about this kind of thing than Erica. "How hard did you bite him?"

"Why did you bite him?" Erica half screamed, and there was so much blood Derek was sure Stiles was going to die.

"I don't know." He whispered. "I just did."

* * *

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of in my life." Jackson said, sitting on the edge of Lydia's large bed, covered in soft pillows and throws. Scott had never been in Lydia's room, which was decorated more like an adults that a high schooler, but he wasn't about to comment.

"This is the best plan we have." She said, clicking on her computer. "Okay," She said, once the program was open. "We can use this."

"Is that **_Sims_**?" Scott asked, looking over her shoulder.

"It's character creation." Lydia said. "You can change everything. Eyes, nose, shape of the jaw – everything. We can create a model of the girl that Jackson saw, and we can scan it into the police database – and see if we've got anything." She looked at Jackson disapproving face. "It's the best option we have, unless you've come up with something better?" After a moment's pause, she turned back to the computer. "Didn't think so."

* * *

"The bleeding has stopped." Isaac said, lifting up one of the cloths from Stiles neck. "His heart rate is still shallow though." Stiles could hear everything, but he was too weak to move, too weak to even open his eyes. He just lay there, paralyzed.

"We should take him to the hospital." Erica whispered.

"We can't." Isaac reminded her. "They'll want to keep him in overnight – and then what do we do? He'll forget everything."

"That might be for the best." She said, and Isaac looked at her questioningly. "Look, Derek nearly killed him. What if he does it again? What if he's just going mad, like Peter did?"

"He just got carried away."

"He nearly killed him." Erica insisted. "Isaac, use your head – he nearly killed a 17 year old boy – it's not safe."

"You mean **_he's_** not safe."

"I'm not using a kid to try and temper a madness that's been nearly 200 years in the making!" Erica hissed, and Stiles wanted to say something, wanted to say that it was okay, that Derek wouldn't have meant to hurt him, but he wasn't able to move. He wasn't even able to breathe heavily. He felt like he was trapped between sleeping an awake – helpless.

"He's been so much better recently."

"Until he tried to kill Stiles."

"You don't know that's what happened."

"I know he lost control."

* * *

"No, go back to the 2nd one." Jackson said, looking at the screen. "That's it. That's her."

"Right." Lydia said, printing off the screen. "Now, you said she was with some guys?"

* * *

"He's our Alpha, our **_master_**. I don't like this." Boyd said, carrying Stiles to the car. Isaac had already wrapped up his wounds and dressed him, all the while Stiles had been laying there like a ragdoll, unable to move, unable to talk. He was sure he kept drifting in and out of consciousness.

"Yeah, well, you don't like a lot of stuff." Erica snapped. "You don't like what I'm doing? You do find Derek and tell him."

"The barrier…"

"The barrier has been almost non-existent for years." Erica snapped. "The only reason we mentioned it was to stop Stiles from wandering off and forgetting – trying to go home."

"Erica…"

"Don't you **_Erica_** me." She hissed, as Stiles was placed carefully in the back seat. "I am not going to let another child under my care be killed. Not ever."

* * *

"I saw him." Scott said, remembering when he saw the face Jackson was carefully constructing with Lydia. "He had cheekbones."

"Most people do." Jackson said, rolling his eyes.

"No, I mean… he had like… Spike from Buffy cheekbones."

* * *

"I'm coming with you."

"You know he's going to kill me." Erica pointed out, as Stiles could hear another person get in the car.

"I know." Boyd's voice said, deep and comforting, even though all Stiles wanted to do was scream out that he'd be okay – he wanted to stay – he was going to be fine.

It hit him then, that he'd rather stay than go back to a town where no one remembered him. He'd rather stay with Derek and Isaac, Erica and Boyd, in the bubble they called a home, than have to start a new life all over again in a new city. He wanted to stay.

"I'm not going to let you take the fall for this alone." Boyd was saying, and damn, if Stiles had been able to move he might have cheered at that. He was sure if he could open his eyes that they'd maybe even be holding hands over the space between the seats.

* * *

"Right." Lydia said, printing off the last picture – she put the four 'Sims' pictures on the bed and sighed. "Stiles still isn't perfect." She said, "But it's the best thing I can think of."

"What do we do now?" Jackson asked, looking at the coloured print-outs.

"Well…" Scott said. "You could email scans to the hospitals, the police station… if you fax it with the 'missing persons' information, people might not be able to tell it's not come directly from a station."

"We could just swap out the phone numbers for one of ours."

"Or a pay to use number." Lydia commented. "So it can't be traced to us if we get caught." She paused. "I wish Stiles was here. He was better than both of you at this kind of thing."

"When do we do this?" Jackson asked, ignoring her comment.

"**_Now_**." She said, getting to her feet. "He's been missing for a month."

* * *

Erica was driving down the gravelled path, Stiles could hear the tires grinding as they moved slowly down the drive.

"Isaac is going to try to keep him distracted." Erica was saying. "It should give us long enough to get Stiles out of here."

"He's going to notice." Boyd pointed out. "He'll be able to tell we're not here."

"Hopefully by then it'll be too late."

* * *

"I want to talk to the sheriff." Lydia said loudly at the desk. "Right now."

Scott and Jackson had made their way in first with a wave and a box of pastries from the local diner – no one looked at them twice with the box in their hands. Lydia had been complaining for the better part of 10 minutes, refusing to be pacified by the officer at the desk – and now she was demanding to see the sheriff.

"We're so dead." Scott told his older brother, who nodded, as their dad walked out of his office and made his way to the front desk. "Okay, go!" Scott hissed.

It didn't take long – they were already prepared before they even walked through the door with the edited posters, they just needed to use the fax and official paperwork. Scott scanned and uploaded the posters onto the internal system, and then – using his dad's email address, sent the files to the local stations – while Jackson used the fax to do the same. "Send all." Scott muttered under his breath.

"Done!" Jackson said, grabbing the originals and stuffing them in his pocket just as their dad walked in.

"What the hell are you two doing in here?" He barked, obviously whatever story Lydia had told him wasn't good enough to keep his attention for long.

"We dropped off some pie in the staff room," Scott said, twirling in the chair. "Don't tell mom," He added, "You know what she's like about you eating that stuff."

"I'll let you off with it this once." He said, grinning. "Now get out of here. Both of you."

* * *

Stiles knew the moment they past the barrier. Although Erica had argued that it was almost non-existent after all the years, Stiles felt like he'd been ripped apart the moment they crossed an unseen line. For the first time since he'd woken up, he was able to make a noise. Unfortunately, it was a broken sob – pain washing through him. His neck, which hadn't hurt at all, was suddenly all he could think about, pain shooting through his entire body as he trembled.

"Fuck." Erica said, and Stiles was sure the car sped up.

* * *

"Nice job." Lydia said, sitting on a bench outside the station when they walked out.

"All we've got to do is wait." Jackson grinned.

"No." Scott said. "What we need to do now is find out what the hell happened that made us forget our own brother."

* * *

"Someone!" Erica called, as Boyd carried him through the doors. "Please! My friend was attacked!"

Almost immediately, Stiles was taken through to a room, placed on a hard bed, and surrounded by people.

"Erica!" He tried to say, but it came out like a gasp – his throat hurt, everything hurt. "Erica, please!" He tried. "Please don't leave me here!"

"What's his name?"

"Stiles. Stiles Stil – Stiles Hale." Erica said, looking at him with terrified eyes. "Is he going to be okay? It wasn't this bad before, it just got worse."

"We'll do everything we can." The nurse soothed. "Please, just wait outside and we'll be right out to collect his details."

"Don't leave me here!" Stiles tried again, but then he felt the prick of a needle and Erica's face swam out of focus. "Please…" was the last thing he said before the drugs took effect.

* * *

Erica didn't wait in the lobby like she'd been told. As soon as Stiles stopped thrashing about on the bed – she was sure he'd been trying to tell her something, but he couldn't talk through the pain – she got out of the bright, white lights of the hospital and into the waiting car. Boyd was already in the passenger side, Stiles blood on his shirt where he'd carried him.

"Okay," She whispered. "Let's go tell Derek."

* * *

**_Happy Wednesday!_**

**_Have a chapter!_**

**_This was both the longest day ever (seriously, it went on for EVER) and the shortest day (Where did my day go? I've had so much to do!). Very confusing. _**

**_Walk last night was great – we managed to do 3 miles in 50 minutes, so we are on track so far. We're staggering our walks been longer and shorter to try to build up some muscle memory before we try a 'mini marathon' of 15 miles. If we can manage that, we should be okay for the 26.2miles we're expected to do on the night!_**

**_I'm starting practising for my driving theory test tonight as well (Good God, why did I leave it so long to learn to drive?!) and hope that I'll be able to pass that on my first attempt – I'm pretty good at tests for some reason, it's the practical I suck at. _**

**_I've also got the 'Rise of the Hutt Cartel' early access for SWTOR to play, but have been too busy to even log on and patch!_**

**_Oh, and I'm setting up my mum's birthday present tonight – I got her a new PC._**

**_Love ya!_**

- **_Robyn_**


	13. Chapter 13

"Mr Hale?" A voice was asking, somewhere near him. "Stiles? Can you hear me?"

It took Stiles longer than he cared to admit, to open his eyes. He was in a bright white room, so bright that it hurt, and he screwed his eyes shut against the pain that shot through his head. "S'bright." He mumbled, voice hoarse and rough, like he'd spent hours screaming.

"I'm just turning them down now, Mr Hale." The voice said, and the light shining through his clenched eyes become softer, more manageable. He tried to relax, letting his eyes open. "You gave us quite a scare, Stiles." He voice said, and Stiles could see a woman in a white coat – a doctor – standing by his bed. "You are one tough guy." She said, looking down at him. "You were brought here by some friends, but they left before we were able to collect any personal details. We've not been able to contact your next of kin."

Stiles blinked, and watched her carefully. His mind was sluggish, taking so long to get moving that it took him a while to understand what she even meant. The drugs were playing with his eyes, he felt like everything was moving, shimmering with colours and… what was that smell? He wrinkled his nose. "Stinks."

"Hospitals tend to smell of hospitals, Mr Hale." She said, her breath was minty, masking the cheese and ham that she'd had for lunch – he could smell it under the overpowering mint. Something smelled like death – rotting and gross, he wanted to hold his nose and turn his head away. "Stiles, we need to get some personal details, so we can contact your parents." She paused. "You will also need to talk to someone about the attack."

Stiles blinked, looking at her with large, owlish eyes. Attack? He'd been attacked? Was that why he was in the hospital? He looked at her helplessly. "What attack?"

"Stiles, can you tell me how old you are?"

He blinked, thinking. Very slowly, he shook his head. He couldn't remember a thing.

* * *

"Hello?" Jackson asked, sounding older that he was. Scott had almost fallen off the bench when they got a call, much to Lydia's amusement. "Yes." Jackson said. "Of course." He paused. "County General?"

Scott felt the blood drain from his face. County General was where their mom worked, but there was no way she'd have this number… so that meant that one of the posters had worked. What if Stiles was in the hospital? What if he'd been killed? "We'll notify the family. No, no, that would be necessary; we'll take it from here." Jackson said, hanging up. "Fuck."

"What is it?"

"Stiles." Jackson said. "He's at the hospital. Only, he was checked in under Stiles **_Hale_**."

* * *

Stiles was sitting, trying not to throw up at the smell of the 'food' that had been placed beside him. The smell was overpowering, the thick, musty smell of cheese and the almost painful snap of onion that made him want to sneeze. His head hurt, and according to the doctor, he was suffering from memory loss due to his accident.

Only… Stiles wasn't sure he'd been attacked. He was sure he would remember that – even though at this point he was having trouble even remembering his own name. He pushed the sandwich away with disgust. He was too tired to even panic. He didn't know how old he was, or where he lived, or what his favourite colour was. He'd been brought in by two people who'd said his name was Stiles Hale, and the credit card (the sleek black one that had gotten him moved to a much nicer room) had Stiles Stilinski-Hale on it in embossed silver lettering.

The place was so damn loud though, he could hear the nurses as they talked, hear the muttering of the other people in the little rooms, and he could even hear the tick-tick of the machines as they sat unmoving in the corner.

"You're a very lucky man." The doctor had said. "When you arrived we were sure that the gashes on your neck were deep, I was there." She said, shaking her head. "I was sure I saw a tear in the jugular." She smiled at him. "Just goes to show, how keeping a clear head in a crisis is important. Once we got you to stop moving we found only a few scratches – you don't even need stitches, and no scarring at all." She shook her head. "Never seen so much blood for such a little thing."

So now Stiles was sitting up in the bed that his sleek black card had paid for, looking through his wallet. There wasn't much there. No money at all, just the card. A library card that only had his name as Stiles Stilinski, so he assumed that the 'Hale' part was new – the picture had obviously been taken a few years ago, his hair was a little shorter, his clothes looked faded and well worn, and nothing like the clothes he was wearing now. There was a bag too – left with his name on it at the door, more clothes. A laptop – expensive and sleek. He had it open on his knee as he clicked around the screen, not really sure what he was looking for.

No pictures, no music, nothing. Only a few internet searches had been bookmarked and one of those was porn. Gay porn, which answered only one question and that wasn't even important when you couldn't remember the year you were born.

He clicked on 'My documents' and found only one file.

**_Stiles, _** **_I don't even know if this is going to work. I don't know if you'll even be able to read this. _** **_Don't panic. Your name is Stiles Stilinski-Hale. You are 17 years old. Your favourite colour is red and you're interested in men sexually. You don't have any allergies._**

Stiles blinked. This was like something in a movie, something he'd maybe even seen before, but he just couldn't remember. Who ever wrote this knew he wasn't going to be able to remember his own name, his age… anything.

**_You've been living with Derek, Boyd, Isaac and me (Erica!) for about a month. You won't remember us. That's okay. Something went wrong, and we had to get you out. I'm sorry, it's not going to make much sense. _**

Whoever this 'Erica' was, she was right about that. **_None_** of this made sense. He looked around, wondering if there had been some mistake, which any moment someone would come in and take the laptop away from him. He gripped the computer and frowned at the screen. Erica… he tried to remember, but… nothing.

**_You need to get somewhere to live, use the card in your wallet – it's yours. You're wealthy enough to go anywhere and do anything you want. Don't worry about money. _** **_You might start to remember things later – please, _****_please_****_, don't go home. Things will not be good. You have to trust me on this. _****_DO NOT GO HOME_****_._** **_I don't have a lot of time, I'm typing this while Isaac packs up your things. I'm sorry. _** **_I'm so sorry._**

**_Erica_**

**_(if it works: ericareeves:thehaletrustcom)_**

* * *

Stiles heard the argument down the hallway long before he saw the people. "How do we explain that we forgot who he was?" Someone asked.

"How the fuck do we tell mom and dad?"

"Shut up, both of you. We don't even know if this is Stiles or not."

Stiles sat up. Someone was coming for him – two boys and a girl. Maybe this was the Erica that had written him the letter – changed her mind and come back for him. He'd already been up and about after reading the document saved on his laptop. He'd had a shower (he didn't like the smell of the soap – why did everything smell so strong here?) and got changed into the clothes that had been packed neatly into the bag. Everything fit him perfectly, but felt new. He obviously wasn't used to wearing the same stuff for years. It had been washed though, you could tell by the softness, and it smelled great. The only thing in the whole place that actually smelt good was the clothes in the bag.

The doctor had told him that the loss of blood was making his vision blurry when he'd complained about it. Everything still had that… fuzzy edge… like a light layer of dust hung over everything, colourful and strangely fluid.

He sat on the bed, and looked at the door, waiting for the people arguing down the hallway to get to his room. They were still bickering between them when they got to his door. He could tell immediately that they knew him. The expressions on their faces were ecstatic.

"Stiles!" The shorter of the two boys, with messy dark hair that had a tendency to curl and a thick punch of deodorant that Stiles could smell from where he sat. "Thank god!" He said, bouncing over to the bed.

"I found you." The girl said, red hair bouncing as she smirked. The boy had wrapped his arms around him, and Stiles was frozen with uncertainty. He didn't know what to do.

"Are you Erica?" He asked the girl, who looked affronted at the question.

"Stiles?" The boy who'd hugged him said, pulling away. "Are you okay?" He paused. "I mean, I know you're not okay." He said, "And we're so sorry, I don't even know what to tell you, man..."

The other boy wasn't looking at him. He was taller, broader and blonder than the one who was tripping over his words trying to say he was sorry – although what he had to be sorry about wasn't quite clear – and he was reading the chart at the foot of the bed. Stiles had already read it.

"He's got amnesia." He said, after a moment. "Can't remember anything."

"Stiles? It's me." The hugger said, looking like Stiles had just kicked him in the face. "Scott. Your **_brother_**."

"I'm sorry." Stiles shrugged, and noticed that the girl was looking through his bag – his wallet in her hand. "Hey!" He snapped. "That's mine!"

She held the black card. "Stilinski-Hale?" She said, reading the name, "Who the hell is Hale?"

"Me." Stiles got up from the bed and grabbed his wallet and card from her unresisting hands. "Don't touch my stuff."

She looked at him like she was shocked. "Stiles, it's **_me_**." She said. "Lydia. Love of your life, **_Lydia_**."

"I'm gay." Stiles told her, voice even and confident. He knew that, he knew that for a fact – the porn he'd hastily shut down before anyone heard the sounds coming from the laptop had been enough to convince him of that, because… yup, that worked… but the letter from Erica too. He knew he was gay. Just like he knew the red shirt was the one he'd worn the most, and he really didn't like strong smells – and he wasn't sure if he liked being hugged by people he didn't know.

"No you aren't." She scoffed.

"Yeah, he is." The blond guy looking at his notes said. "He's really not been into you as much as you like to think." He grinned at Stiles, like this was some joke they'd shared – or that Stiles should understand something that was going on.

"Stiles is gay?" The hugger-boy asked, looking at the blond and… Lydia… before staring at him. "You told **_Jackson_** before you told me?" He said, hurt radiating from his pores. Stiles could almost smell how upset he was. "I'm your best friend!"

"I'm his brother too, you know!" The boy called Jackson retorted.

"You're a jerk!"

"Shut your face, Scott, before I shut it for you."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Shut up, both of you!" Stiles yelled, and both boys looked at him like he'd lost his mind. The girl was watching him very closely.

"Stiles… that card? The black one?"

He looked at her and cocked an eyebrow as if to say: yeah? What of it? Which made her look even **_more_** unsure. Stiles wondered if he did like her. She seemed… he sniffed the air… she seemed nervous.

"Where did you get it?"

"It's mine." He said. Surely if they were his brothers… he glanced at them – they didn't look anything alike – they would know that. They'd know he had money.

"And the clothes? Jackson, those are Dior Homme – that's a $700 pair of jeans he's sitting in, the shirt's Hysteric Glamour – I **_think_**. I wouldn't know, because I've never _seen one in person_."

"They look like the stuff he always wore." The blond boy said, but he stood there and looked Stiles over like he was a piece of meat.

"Yeah? I think I would have noticed if your baby brother who – despite what you say – has a crush the size of mars on me, was walking around in top to toe designer labels."

"These are my clothes." Stiles said, feeling like he was having to defend everything about himself to this girl. "I bought them. They belong to me. I don't know who the fuck you are, but I'm getting real tired of you judging me because of what I'm wearing." He glared at all three of them, and stood back, putting some much needed space between him and them. "I want to go back." He said, and for a split instant, he saw…

He saw a man with red eyes and dark hair, teeth sharp and blood on his lips, it should have been terrifying, but somehow, he knew – he just knew – that he wouldn't hurt him. He almost remember his name – but he could taste blood in his mouth and feel warm skin on his, and knew that whoever this man was, he was important to him. Important enough to remember when he couldn't even remember his **_own_** name without being told.

"Back where?" Scott asked.

"Home." Stiles replied instantly. Back to him. Where he belonged.

* * *

**_Happy 'Why the hell isn't in Friday yet' Thursday!_**

**_Have a chapter._**

**_Writing is hard when you don't have time to do it. _**

**_6 Mile walk tonight, let's hope it doesn't kill me. Last time we attempted 6 miles my training partner and Walk-The-Walk team-mate got really bad blisters and we had to cut it short, so I'm hoping that we manage okay tonight!_**

**_I watched an episode of Supernatural – I'm on season 8 now (episode 3), so I'm almost caught up with everyone on Tumblr, which is good. Sam seems so sad. I just want to reach through the TV and give him a big hug, and tell Dean that it's okay if Sam wants to leave the life, because he's ALLOWED TO HAVE NICE THINGS and STOP BEING A JERK, BITCH. _**

**_Oh, did I mention I wrote another SPN story? It's called 'As The Crowe Flies' and it's part of a new series I'm writing, called Monster of the Week, so take a read of that if you like SPN. I'm stupidly proud of it, because it reads (I think, anyway) just like a real episode of Supernatural. _**

**_Better get going!_**

**_Love you all_**

- **_Robyn_**


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles told the nurse he remembered everything. His name, his date of birth: Everything. She didn't seem that convinced, but he signed himself out of the hospital with a smile that for some reason, she seemed wary of.

"We'll take you home." Scott, the one who liked to hug and smelt like perfume under his deodorant – probably he had a girlfriend – told him. Stiles didn't even bother to answer him. "We managed to find all your stuff." He was saying as they trailed behind him. "Birth certificates, drivers licence. Everything." He seemed pleased, like he'd done something wonderful, a grand gesture.

Stiles didn't pause. He needed those things. He needed a car. "Good." Was all he said, walking through the stink of the hospital. He was going to gag if he didn't get outside soon, the air was heavy with chemical cleaners and the stench of sickness – it turned his stomach.

"Stiles, see, the thing is, mom and dad… I don't think they remember you." Scott said, and Stiles could hear the nerves in his voice like a physical thing. "We don't understand." He said, "But it was like you didn't exist – I'm so sorry." He said. Stiles wondered if the heavy emotion was normal. He didn't care. Why should he? He wasn't even sure if these people were friends, never mind family. "Stiles, now your back, I'm sure they'll remember you."

"I need a car." Stiles said after a moment that wasn't filled with Scott apologising for things that Stiles didn't really care about. Mom and Dad? Just words, he couldn't remember faces or feelings that went with them, so what did it matter if they didn't remember him? He didn't remember **_them_**.

"Your Jeep is in the garage." Scott said, again, his enthusiasm seeping into his words. "I saw it." He said. "And I remembered you. So maybe when we get home, mom and dad will see you… and they'll remember too."

The blond one, Jackson, who'd been watching him with a wary expression since he'd announced he was leaving the hospital, still hadn't said anything. He was hanging back a few steps with the girl – they were sleeping together, Stiles could tell by the way her perfume lingered on his skin, a musky contrast to the sharp twinge of his aftershave. He wanted to tell them all to go home, shower – The smell was overpowering, Jesus, did they bathe in the stuff?

"Something is different." Jackson whispered. Stiles supposed he wasn't meant to heave that, Scott obviously didn't, still talking about how sorry he was, and how he didn't know what was going on, how they'd work it out. "He's not like he used to be."

"Shut up, Jackson." Lydia shot back. "He's fine, he's just… on edge."

"Did you see the way he looked at the nurse?" Jackson hissed under his breath. "His eyes? He looked like he was going to gut her if she didn't let him leave."

"Jackson, shush, okay? He's just on edge."

* * *

Erica assumed Derek was going to freak out. She assumed that when they returned, he'd be fully wolfed out and ready to rip her apart.

"Where is he?" Was all she got as she walked into the house. Derek was sitting on the last step of the large, curved staircase, obviously waiting for them to return.

"I took him to the hospital." She said, mentally assessing where she could get to quickly if Derek decided to leap. Her only hope was to get back outside and slam the door – she wasn't strong enough to fight off an Alpha, even with Boyds help, and he wouldn't attack the man who'd saved his life.

"The barrier?"

"Weak." She said, eyeing the door where she could see Isaac. He'd already moved some of the things out of the way, anything that might block her if she needed to run. Thank God. "We passed it."

"How is he?"

"Bleeding." Erica said, voice tight. Any moment he was going to leap and she'd need to move fast to get away. Boyd was nearer the door, he'd be able to get through to the kitchens quickly enough – barricade himself in like they'd done all those years ago when Peter snapped, finding his daughter killed at the hands of that woman. "I left him with the card and his laptop. Some clothes." She glanced at Isaac who was holding the side door open, face flat and emotionless, waiting for her to bolt. He'd help her, she knew. They were family. "He couldn't stay here." She said. She didn't say why, but Derek knew. He'd lost control with Stiles, a sign that perhaps they'd been waiting for since his temper started to shatter all those years ago. Stiles arrival had been a godsend at first, like a balm to the Alpha, God, they'd talked and laughed every night for a month, and Erica saw Derek for what he could have been…

But the bloody bodies of children, scattered like leaves in the fall, filled her mind when she'd seen Derek carrying in Stiles, throat ripped and heart stuttering as it tried to cope with the blood loss. He was going to snap, just like Peter – but this time, Erica was going make sure that she never had to bury another pale, fragile body.

She couldn't stop Peter in the nursery, but she could stop Derek now.

He got to his feet, and Erica tensed, ready to leap for the door that Isaac was gripping tightly, but Derek didn't attack. "I know." He said, and turned and walked up the stairs, each step echoing around the large room that suddenly seemed very empty without Stiles there.

* * *

Stiles looked at the Jeep in the garage and turned to look at Scott. "Are you serious?" He asked, voice flat. "You expect me to drive around in that?" He snorted, and looked around. They'd been brought to the garage in the sleek red sports car that belonged to Lydia. Stiles didn't like it, the air hung stale and bitter, he could almost taste the air 'freshener' that she had plugged in.

Across the street was a car dealership. Without even looking over his shoulder to see if they were following him, he walked towards the glass building with purpose. He wasn't going to be driving around in a beat up 'vintage' jeep.

"You just wasted my time!" The mechanic called after them. Stile felt another rush of anger, the same one he'd been fighting off since he woke up, wash over him, but forced himself to keep walking. It had become a mantra in his head. Do not punch Scott. Do not punch Jackson. Do not rip the throat out of the greasy mechanic with his teeth.

"Hello!" The over starched man announced when they walked in, face dropping his fake smile the moment he saw who they were. Stiles felt a growl low in his throat, throbbing like the blood in his veins. "We don't offer test drives to highschoolers." He said, turning away.

"I'm buying." Stiles managed to say without reaching over and grabbing the salesman by the neck and twisting. He looked around, eyes drifting past the models he wouldn't be seen dead in. There, sitting by the window, was something… not **_quite_** right, but near enough. "That one." He pointed, pulling out the card from his wallet. "The coupe."

The dealer looked at him like he'd grown a new head. "The Chevrolet 2013?" He smirked. "Is currently retailing at $60 thousand."

"Yes." Stiles said. "And I want it. Today."

The man smiled indulgently. "We'll have to run a credit check."

"I don't want credit." Stiles said, handing him the card. "I'll pay in full."

Behind him, he heard Jackson splutter, Scott's heart rate had pitched up to an almost dangerous level. "Stiles." He hissed as the dealer took the card with a gleam in his eye. "Stiles, you can't afford this!"

"Stop talking." Stiles replied. "Or I'll reach down your throat, pull out your heart and eat it in front of you."

"Ah!" The dealer said, walking back with a huge smile on his face. "Mr Hale, that all checks out!" He handed the card back to Stiles, self-satisfaction wafting off him in waves. His whole body language had changed, now he was willing to discuss anything Stiles wanted. His whole body radiated a need to help.

"The Camaro is an excellent choice." He enthused. "Would you like to test drive? Can I interest you in any optional extras?"

"No." Stiles said, looking at the car. It wasn't… it wasn't quite right, but something in the back of his mind remembered a car so similar… He grinned. "I'll take it as it is."

* * *

"What happened?" Isaac asked. They were locked in the kitchen. Derek was in his room, silence had descended on the house – but they'd barricaded the door just in case.

"We took him past the barrier." Erica said. "He started bleeding really badly, I think it made his neck worse…" She said, shuddering. "I left him a note." She managed. Her throat was tight, talking was hard. She would have felt better if Derek **_had_** attacked her. This silence, the blank look in her Alpha's eyes as he walked away, was more painful. "I don't know if he'll even be able to read it." She said.

* * *

Stiles remembered how to drive, which was good. The car wasn't… right… but it was close enough, and the clean smell inside was like a balm to his senses. Lydia, the girl who thought he was in love with her even though she was dating his 'brother' Jackson, was looking at him with a slightly concerned expression. Scott looked panicked, his heart rate still hadn't dropped, and despite not saying anything, Stiles knew that Jackson was struggling to keep his outward appearance of calm.

They were talking amongst themselves as Stiles paid for the Camaro and got the keys. He suspected that no one else was able to hear them.

"Something is off." Jackson was saying. "Something isn't right with him."

"You're over-reacting." Lydia said, but her heart rate skipped over the lie. "He's fine. He's just got some memory issues, that's all."

"He threatened to kill me." Scott hissed.

"He didn't mean it."

Stiles grinned as he signed his name on the line. Stiles Stilinski-Hale. Smooth and easy to write, like he'd done it all his life. Surely it would feel weird if it wasn't true. Oh, he'd meant to threaten Scott. It felt good to hear his heart trip and falter as he looked him dead in the eye, knowing he could do it. Stiles looked at the pen in his hand, and knew he could snap it with ease. Knew just where to bite down on the throat of the salesman to prevent him from screaming, knew what the blood on his tongue would taste like, sharp and metallic, crisp – clean.

"Here you go, Mr Stilinski-Hale."

"Just Hale," Stiles shot back. "My name is Hale."

The dealer didn't like him, Stiles knew. He didn't like the way that Stiles smiled, or smelled, or something. Stiles didn't care. He wasn't important, what was important was getting home. Getting back to where he belonged.

He felt strong, powerful. He didn't owe these people who thought he was their brother **_anything_**.

* * *

Erica fell asleep leaning against Boyd's broad shoulder, much to Isaac's amusement. Over 200 years of sexual tension so thick you'd need a chainsaw to cut through it was maybe starting to get somewhere. Their fingers were laced together as she slept, and Isaac felt the bitterness in his throat that he tried to beat down. He'd been bitten when Peter went insane – but Sarah… he swallowed. She'd been everything he ever wanted. Perfect, with her dark hair and even darker eyes. 15 years old and so far out of his reach that he might as well have tried to catch the stars. He wanted to make a name for himself, become wealthy, return and offer for her hand when he had the funds to provide for her like she deserved. He was 16 and facing the hard truth that he wasn't going to become an inventor, he was going to follow in his father's steps and work for the Hales until he was too old to go on, when she'd kissed him.

He'd been sitting in the stairwell at the back of the house, little used unless during large balls where the servants would need to access the walled gardens quickly with cool refreshments. She had been sneaking out of the house for some reason, hiding from her mother and her dance instructor probably.

He was older than her, of course, but that didn't change the fact that she was a young woman, from a good family, with an education that far outweighed his… she was confident and flirtatious and about to become the reigning beauty once she'd had her debutant ball.

"Isaac!" She'd gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "You startled me."

"My apologise, Ma'am." He said, getting to his feet, unsure if he should leave or stay. As a servant she should even know his name, but the Hales were so progressive in the way they treated their staff that it wasn't unusual.

"Why are you hiding here?" She smiled, white teeth showing as she smiled. She'd been born human, but had that famous beauty that ran in the Loup Garou, "Hiding too?"

Isaac knew he was expected to lie, to say no, he was just resting for a moment, but he'd nodded. "From my father." He'd said, and her laugh was like a balm on his nerves. She laughed like a child, open, honest – Isaac never had any hope of staying detached when faced with something like that.

"I'm hiding from mother." She smiled, perfect teeth, perfect lips – dark eyes that sparkled. "We should hide together."

And then she'd kissed him.

By the time he was 18 she was one of the most popular girls in the area. Her presence at a ball would always be talked about, she dressed well, was happy and beautiful – without that overinflated ego that plagued pretty girls. She was 17 and expected to marry well.

"We could run away together." She whispered against his lips. Another hidden space, more stolen kisses. "I could take my jewellery box and we could sell enough to buy a small home." She gripped his lapel, tightly. "There are new frontiers – I could teach, like Erica! No one would ask questions."

Isaac nodded, because, really – what other option did he have? He'd never be able to marry her here, where he was a servant and she was a lady. "I have some savings." He told her. He'd planned on using it to get as far away from the Hales once she'd married – married someone else and he lost her forever.

"Meet me here." She whispered. "Tomorrow night, when everyone has gone to bed."

He remembered everything. The way she smelled, the way her hair would always manage to come undone no matter how many pins she used to hold it in place…

Which was why they weren't in their rooms when Katherine Argent went from door to door with her blade, dripping red lines as she walked. They didn't know what had happened until the howl went up – Peter had decided to check on his daughter through the night, 5 years old and a mass of dark hair just like her beautiful cousin. He'd found her throat cut open.

The Argent witch was found later, mauled to death. But Peter had been lost to madness. In his grief he attacked anything, Erica, Boyd, Isaac… and Sarah, his niece who had been born human and hadn't been able to fight back. Isaac had tried to cover her body with his own, but it was too late. He remembered the pain of the bite, the sure belief that he would die…

And he awoke to find he was still cradling her cold, pale body.

He never told anyone about their plans to leave together. What was the point? No one would believe him. He was just a servant. She was a lady. He wouldn't taint her memory with something so sordid as an elopement with a simple serving boy with nothing to his name. He put the jewellery back in her room, and later, much later – he moved his things there too, slept alone and tried to forget that once he had been loved.

Erica moved in her sleep, leaning closer into Boyd and snapping Isaac from his memories. At least maybe now, brought closer by their disobedience of the Alpha, Boyd wouldn't let his social standing affect his feelings for Isaac's half-sister.

Isaac knew how crippling it was so love someone so above your station that it seemed impossible.

* * *

Stiles parked the car at the top of the bluff and looked out over the town. He'd left the others – three of them standing outside the dealership discussing what was 'wrong' with him – as soon as he bought the car, just drove off and left them. They were nothing. Bugs he could crush under his feet.

Inside of him, burning like a fir he couldn't control, was rage. Fury. Hate. His anger was so strong that it heated his blood, he was already sweating even though the night air was crisp and cool. The face, the red eyes and dark brows, were all he could think about. The taste of blood, the feel of skin… it was a jumbled mess. He wanted to throw back his head and scream at the moon.

"Well… look what we have here." A voice behind him said, dripping with malic and delight. "A little rich play thing." He turned, and saw a woman, tall, powerful. Her feet were bare, clothes worn and ripped as though she never thought to change. Behind her, two boys, so alike he could only tell them apart from the smell radiating off them in waves. Another man in the back.

"Go away." Stiles said, heart picking up a pace. He imagined it should be frightening, these people, but he felt… invincible. These people didn't scare him. "I'm not in the mood."

The woman laughed. "Oh, how pathetic." She said, looking over her shoulder at the others. "Listen to his little heart tripping over itself as he plays at being a big, strong man."

Stiles watched her as she spoke. Saw things that he wasn't expecting to see. He saw how she moved, how she turned – she'd be a graceful fighter, using her height and flexibility to quickly overpower him. He legs though, would be her weakness. If he stayed low, keeping his centre of gravity down, giving her no rest… a well-placed bite would have her hamstring in his teeth. A crippling blow. His heart picked up at the thought, thudding loudly in his ears. The others laughed, smirking at him. Did they believe that he was fearful? Of them? He had other things on his mind, he needed to remember the man – find out about the mysterious 'Erica' who had left him the note – he didn't have time for this… gang.

"We could kill him." One of the boys who shared a face said. "Take the car."

"I want to play with this one." The woman said. She smiled at Stiles, teeth showing. He sighed.

"Lady, back off. I've had a long day and I'm not in the mood to be jumped by a bunch of homeless freaks who think they're impressive."

They laughed, which made his blood boil. Who the hell did they think he was? Laughing at him?

"Oh, little man thinks he's the big bad wolf." She smirked. "You ain't nothing, boy."

She leapt at him, springing up like she'd been shot from a cannon, and Stiles rolled to one side on pure instinct, back on his feet as she landed awkwardly where he'd been standing only a few moments before.

She grinned, but Stiles could tell she wasn't happy, and she certainly wasn't laughing anymore. "I told you I wasn't in the mood to play." He said, smirking.

"We've got ourselves a little gymnast." She said, flexing her hands. Stiles hadn't noticed before, but he noticed now – her hands were… different. Her fingers were longer, distended and her nails were thick – more like claws that anything else. He looked down at his own hands, small, pale – nails short but neatly cut. "Oh, poor baby starting to notice, huh?" She laughed, and when he looked back up at her face, his heart picked up so fast it was racing, blood pumping in his ears – roaring through his veins. Her eyes were red.

* * *

Derek rolled over onto his back and let out another self-indulgent groan. He'd been ready to kill Erica and Boyd when he found that they'd taken Stiles away – how dare they? But by the time they'd returned he realised that it was for the better. He'd nearly killed Stiles because he couldn't control his need to get as close to him as possible. He'd been too young to have any kind of romantic interest, his father promising to have 'the talk' with him when he was old enough to understand… but then they'd been trapped on the other side of the barrier and Derek had grown up understanding the biology and not the drive – until he met Stiles.

Stiles, with his gold eyes and his mouth that never stopped moving, and his miles of pale skin. Derek wanted to crawl inside of him and live there forever – every time they were in the same room it was an effort to keep his hands to himself, and when he'd finally been able to touch him…

Derek shuddered at the sensation in his body at the memory of Stiles pressed against him. His moans, the desperate grip of his hands… the smell of musk and need mixing with the sharp tang of blood and the warmth of his mouth.

Alone in his room, locked away from his Beta's, Derek felt his body respond at the memories. His teeth, sharp and pointed as they bit down on his lip, his cock already hard and throbbing, confined in his jeans. Letting out a groan of pure frustration, he pressed the heel of his palm into his crotch, hard and brutal.

Stiles was gone. Forgotten all about them by now, moving on with his life.

Derek's eyes drifted over to the mirror. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't look, because how could that help him at all, to see Stiles and not be able to touch him, see him and know that Stiles didn't remember him at all, see him with other people – maybe even a lover?

Derek glared at his reflection for a few minutes before giving in to the desperate need to know that Stiles was okay – that he wasn't wandering lost.

"Stiles Stilinski." He said, waiting for the mirror to change. Nothing happened. "Stiles Stilinski." He repeated, looking into the glass. His own face stared back at him, reflecting his shock. The mirror always worked. You said the name, you got the person. He paused for a moment. You had to say the **_correct_** name, the name that the person knew was their own. "Stiles… Hale."

The glass clouded over, and Derek let out a sigh. Stiles remembered the name at least, perhaps the card that Erica had made sure he had in his wallet had helped.

Derek saw him, gold eyes in the night, standing by a sleek black Camaro that looked a lot like the one he owned – maybe Stiles remembered a lot more than they expected.

Then he saw **_them_**, surrounding Stiles as he glared at the woman in front of him.

The Alpha pack.

* * *

**_Happy *_****_THANK FUCK IT'S FRIDAY_****_* Friday_**

**_Have a chapter!_**

**_Before you all freak out: Memory loss can result in personality changes. This is due to the fact that all the things that make you react in a certain way are usually routed in your past experiences. Stiles doesn't remember how much he is best bro's with Scott, how he crushed on Lydia, how much he loved his dad – none of it. All he knows is what he feels NOW – Strong, confident, rich and slightly obsessed with the thought of killing people. So, yeah, he's OOC right now._**

**_Also, I wanted to do a little bit on Isaac's past because (you may know this) he's my precious BB and I love him so much and I want him to have nice things… although I didn't give him nice things here and it hurt my heart, but it just kinda poured out my fingertips and I went and gave myself heartbroken!Isaac feels. _**

**_My walk was AWESOME! 6 miles and no issues at all. Feeling totally pumped for next week now that I know we are back on track. We did it in an hour and 25 minutes! Go us!_**

**_As you know, I don't update this story at weekends, but if you want to read something by me (like, why wouldn't you? I'm awesome!) I should be updating my Supernatural 'Monster of the Week' this weekend. _**

**_Vampires!_**

**_Love you all!_**

- **_Robyn_**


	15. Chapter 15

Scott knew that there was something going on with Stiles, even if Lydia was just insisting that his new attitude was all based on his memory loss.

"Look," She pointed out. "If you couldn't remember your mom and dad, you wouldn't miss them. If you couldn't remember being stung by a bee you wouldn't be scared of them now." She carried on, sitting in the passenger seat as Jackson followed the black Camaro through the town, keeping far enough back that Stiles wouldn't see Lydia's bright red sports car. "The way you act comes from your memories. Stiles doesn't remember that he's your friend, or that he's even got brothers – as far as he is aware, we just showed up at the hospital and told him we were his friends. He doesn't remember us."

"Stiles wouldn't just leave us like that!" Scott insisted. He knew his brother – knew him better than anyone in the world – and he knew that Stiles wouldn't just leave them if he was thinking right, memory loss or not. "He's never acted like this, never! Not even when we were in kindergarten and he didn't have tonnes of memories!" He paused. "You saw the way he looked at that nurse, and I really don't think he was kidding when he said he wanted to rip my heart out."

"So you think he went missing for a month and came back a serial killer?" Lydia snapped. "Am I the only one who doesn't think that Stiles has jumped off the deep end?"

"He's going up to the bluff." Jackson said, slowing the car down. The bluff was one of the scenic points of town – in the summer months you'd see picnics in the afternoons and parked cars at night, a prime make-out spot. Scott should know, he'd been out there with Alison a few times. Making out with a girl not even knowing that his own brother was missing.

"Park here." Scott said, "We'll walk up."

"Why?" Jackson snapped. "It'll take too long to walk there."

"Because I don't want him to know we're following him!" Scott snapped. "Something is wrong with him!"

* * *

The woman swung out at him again. Stiles had been waiting for it this time and dropped to the ground, rushing her legs even as she leapt forward. Her eyes were glowing red, bright in the dark, and around her the others were breathing heavily – eyes a matching shade. For some reason, that struck Stiles as odder than the fact that their eyes were red. Surely they all shouldn't be red?

Something in the back of his mind said that only one – the woman – should have red eyes. The others should be blue, or gold… but he didn't know **_why_**…

He rolled away from her quickly, he had no time to think about what was wrong with the images that his brain was throwing up at him – he needed to keep alert, keep moving. No time to think about the red eyes, the dark hair – stubble over the hard line of a jaw…

"Oh, what is this?" She laughed, but Stiles could tell she wasn't happy. Annoyance and irritation seeping into her smiling face as she couldn't seem to land a blow. "We've got us a little human jack-in-a-box, popping up and down."

"Just kill him." One of the twins said, voice bored. "He's too skinny for a good hunt."

"Oh, I don't know." She said, eyes never leaving Stiles. "I think he'll be lots of fun." She smirked. "Won't you, angel eyes?"

Without warning, she leapt again, but Stiles had been thinking, his mind lasered and honed in on a few points. She liked to jump around, which gave her the advantage of height and strength, but Stiles knew he was fast, and if he stayed low, he'd be able to catch her off balance.

This time, Stiles didn't roll away, he pushed forward, body snapping like a bow as he grabbed her calf and twisted as she left the ground. There was a snap, not clean – shattered and ugly – in the clearing.

Her howl was a mix of pain and frustration, and Stiles liked it. He smiled at her as she landed, one leg twisted abnormally, ankle hanging limply.

"I told you I'm not in the mood to play." He said, watching as before his eyes, her foot twisted back into place. Surely he should find that… strange? "Interesting." He smirked as he watched. "How many times can you do that?"

"As many as I like." She replied, voice flat and completely free of the mocking tone she's been using earlier. Around him, the other red-eyed people were watching him with interest. Stiles paid them no attention. For some reason, he knew they weren't going to try and jump him in the middle of a fight.

"How about I test that theory?" He asked, keeping low – keeping his body moving. They circled each other slowly, eyes never leaving one another.

"What are you?" She said, standing on her foot, the one he'd broken, and wincing. Stiles didn't believe that act for a second. If she healed that fast, the pain would already be a memory. She was trying to lure him in, thinking he'd be rash and attack her – idiot. "No regular human can break a bone with one hand."

"Stronger than I look." Stiles shrugged, keeping low. "All this pale awesomeness… so easily overlooked."

"True." She smiled. "We won't overlook you."

"I think you were going to try." He said, watching her every move. She limped again, winced. He tried not to roll his eyes. Did she think he was a fucking idiot?

"Not anymore." She smiled, soft, welcoming. "We can make your life so much…. Better."

"Yeah?" Stiles asked, watching her closely. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him to attack, rip out her throat, feel the bitter taste of blood on his lips, be he fought it down.

"Look at me." She smiled, waving a hand over her body. "Perfect. You can be just like me. Just like us. We can make you stronger, little human."

Stiles didn't snort, because that would have been **_rude_**. "You look like a homeless prostitute." He said. "No shoes, tacky assed fake leather jacket – ever heard of personal grooming?" He paused. Perhaps that was rude too? "I've got money, good clothes and let's not forget – I'm not the one with the broken leg."

* * *

Derek was running, Erica, Isaac and Boyd behind him – fanned out amongst the trees as they covered ground faster than any human could.

He'd seen the feral, wild werewolves in the mirror and had panicked. How hard had he bitten Stiles? He wondered as he ran from his rooms, calling for the others. How long did it take to turn a human? He'd only been a child when Peter had gone through the house, killing those not already butchered by the Argent Witch.

He knew that Isaac had awoken turned, but Erica had taken almost a week – her heart flickering between life and death for so long he didn't know if she would live even if the bite was successful.

"Erica!" He called, "Boyd!" His voice travelled through the house, bouncing off the walls as he ran. "Isaac! Now!"

"What is it?" Isaac asked, appearing at the foot of the stairs Derek was taking three at a time. He looked dishevelled, which was unusual for the normally impeccable boy.

"Stiles is in danger." He growled, already feeling his wolf straining at the surface of his mind, screaming and roaring to protect. "The Alpha pack have him."

So they ran, covering ground as fast as they could – already past the barrier and not slowing down.

In the distance, he could smell the tang of blood and the scents of feral Lupe Garou – to many for any human to take on, the scent tainted by the mindless killing spree they'd been on. Now that deadly intent was focused on Stiles. He let out a howl, low and loud. He was coming for Stiles.

* * *

She leapt again, and this time, Stiles knew that there would be no let-up – no rolling to the side and chatting for a while – this was a **_fight_**, tooth and nail.

He tried to keep as low to the ground as possible as she used her strength and height to dominate him, her blows landing hard on his back and sides, but never quite hitting home as he dodged and rolled – hands lashing out and twisting at anything he could grab. His body seemed to think that he was perfectly able to bite and claw like she was, but his fingernails were blunt and teeth remained normal as he fought the urge to snap at her limbs as she kicked him in the face.

Blood filled his mouth, blooming red down his chin as he rolled back too late, a well-placed fist knocking him flat on his back. "Poor little human." She hissed at him. "Any last words?"

"Fuck you, you rabid whore." He spat.

* * *

Scott heard the howl that rose up in the darkness like something out of a horror movie. "Is that a wolf?" He asked as they paused.

"No." Lydia shot back, "There aren't any wild wolves here."

"Get a move on." Jackson urged, "I thought I heard something."

* * *

Stiles heard the howl – low and deep, vibrating through the trees around them like a physical touch. His **_pack_**.

He felt his teeth lengthen in his mouth, cutting his lip and gums. His hands too – which had been gripping the packed earth under him flexed, he griped with stronger fingers – sharp nails, as the howl ran through his blood.

The woman, who had been merely inches away from ripping out his heart, snapped her head up at the sound, giving Stiles all the advantage he needed – his hands shot forward, grabbing her head and twisting as hard as he could.

The crack of her neck wasn't what he expected, no pop, no snap. A grinding of bone against bone, a crackle – like twisting bubble wrap around your finger and hearing them all pop at once – and at last, a muffled crack. Her body, leaning over him, went instantly limp, he had to roll quickly to avoid being crushed under the dead weight.

It took an instant, a blink in time – one moment Stiles knew he was going to die, the next, he was on his feet –that rush of strength that flowed through his body since he'd woken up in the hospital, a flame of power – Burst.

He was a nuclear bomb in a world of matches, more powerful than anything. Around him he could hear voices, mutterings in the trees, others – so many others than the red eyed twins and the blond man who had been with the woman.

"He's the Alpha now." One of them whispered, stepping out of the shadows. A girl, not much older than him with a mass of wild red hair – a mess of twigs and dirt, stinking of blood and filth. "My Alpha."

Another, a child, dark hair – blue eyes. "My Alpha." She couldn't have been older than 7 or 8.

"My Alpha." Another, strong, broad – dark eyes and darker skin.

Stiles threw back his head and howled.

* * *

**_Happy Tuesday._**

**_Have a Chapter!_**

**_I'm really sorry I didn't have any update for you yesterday – I had a massive migraine over the weekend and it left me pretty drained yesterday. I wasn't up to much at all._**

**_A few more chapters to go and I'm putting this to bed. Expect smut._**

**_I know I say this all the time but I think I'm going to take a little break after this story. I've been writing almost every day for the past 7 months and I'm a little done in._**

**_I might just carry on with my SPN Monster of the Week series and wait till season 3 comes out for TeenWolf._**

**_That way we'll all know what The Sheriffs name is (if it's not John I might actually cry), how we're going to deal with Erica being gone, how much it'll suck without Jackson and just how much we hate the new pack._**

**_But I'll see you all tomorrow!_**

**_Love,_**

**_- Robyn_**


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles stood beside his car and tried to breathe. Each breath felt like it was ripping through him, his body cramping and contorting with every lungful.

"Well, look at that." One of the twins said.

"An Alpha before the bite took hold." The other commented.

"Think it'll kill him?"

"Think it killed **_her_**."

"Well… She's gone now." One of them said. "Her betas already follow him."

Stiles let their conversation roll over his head as he tied to find something to concentrate on that wasn't the pain shooting through every inch of his body. He could feel the muscles between his ribs cramp and tighten, his heart beating so fast he could feel the blood in his veins throbbing.

He hit the ground by his car, the black coupe that wasn't **_quite_** right but near enough to pass, and wondered if he was going to die, curled up in the dirt. His brain fired off images he didn't remember – a man with silver hair and a gold badge, a woman with black curls and green scrubs, names floating around his skull like pinballs fired at random – Danny, Isaac, Coach, Derek – the bounced against memories hard and fast, too much for him to keep up with.

Danny at the club, smiling and holding him a glass – just coke, he knew – "Jackson told me about Paul." He'd said, white teeth sparkling in the neon lights. "Are you coming out before prom?" Stiles still didn't know if he was being hit on or if Danny was making polite conversation as Stiles remembered the pale panic of Jackson seeing him with Paul, he hadn't wanted anyone to know. **_Danny_**.

Everything shifted again – he was sitting in a library, huge and grand, seemingly miles off the ground, laughing with the blond Isaac. "I mean, I was only a boy at the time," He explained. "But I swear to God, my father didn't care. I remember Peter laughing at the smoke – it filled the entire room – and he told me if I wanted to do my experiments, there was an old woodshed I could use." Stiles laughed, carefree and happy. **_Isaac_**.

Coach was yelling. "Stilinski, get on the field!" and Stiles knew that it was his time to shine. He got to his feet, almost tripping up over his lacrosse stick in his eagerness to get out there, out on the pitch. "Not **_you_**, dumbass!" Coach hissed, pointing to the dark curls of his brother. "You, middle Stilinski – GO!" Stiles sat back down, heavily as his older brother ran out onto the pitch. **_Coach_**.

His mind fired off more names, more memories, like a patchwork. The feel of cold water on his skin, the press of a hot, solid body against his smaller frame – Derek urging, pushing, growling, as they kissed, until his body covered Stiles completely, lips on his neck, the pain first – then wave upon wave of pleasure as he urged for more. The feel of blood in his mouth – hot and bitter – as he begged for more. The red eyes, the teeth. **_Derek_**.

He remembered.

* * *

Derek thought he was running as fast as he could, until he heard the howl of an Alpha go up amongst the trees – the burst of speed seemingly coming from nowhere as he easily out-paced his betas, bursting forward and dropping to all fours. An Alpha always called out after a kill, a sign of dominance and power – had she killed Stiles?

He knew when he was near, there were others, betas, in the trees, standing back from where he knew their Alphas were surrounding Stiles.

He burst through the clearing and saw Stiles – leaning hunched and broken against the car that was almost an exact copy of the one Derek owned. He was breathing, but his heart was racing too fast – so fast it was just a thrum in his ears.

Dimly aware that there were other Alphas in the space between them, Derek lurched forward, grabbing at Stiles – desperate to see what injuries he'd received.

Stiles looked up at him, expression fearful, scared. But what had Derek pulling back in shock, were the bright red eyes that looked up at him. An Alpha.

* * *

Stiles didn't know what was real and what was a memory when Derek grabbed him, looking worried and relieved at the same time, like a war of emotions on his face. Stiles remembered the blind want, the fire that they had between them – and when Derek pulled away, Stiles pushed forward – hard – slamming Derek's back into the packed dirt.

Pain forgotten, Stiles found a growl rumbling through his body at the feel of Derek's hard body under him like they were made for each other, slotting together easily. The blood that had been pounding in his ears evened out, heart returning to steady thu-thump as his world became only the man under him.

The smell of his skin was strange, like dust and paper, mixed with earth and nutmeg, and Stiles leaned forward till he could rub his nose along the corded tendon of Derek's neck where the scent was strongest. Caught between his straddled thighs, Derek let out a warning growl when Stiles leaned closer still, mouth pressed against the solid beating of Derek's jugular vein. Stiles smiled at that, pulled back a few inches so he could see Derek's face, rolling his hips as he stared directly at him.

There was no mistaking the open invitation in the movement – Derek's body responded instantly, hardening under the fly of his jeans.

"Well," Someone said, snapping him out of his lust filled brain. "Should we kill him, or should we go?"

Stiles rolled off of Derek in a smooth motion, back on his feet instantly – putting himself between Derek and the other Alphas.

"Mine." He growled, brain working only on a primal level where he knew Derek was his and he protected what belonged to him. "Back off."

One of the twins stepped forward, menacingly. "You might have caught her off guard, but you'll have a much harder time with us." He warned. "We don't take orders from anyone."

"You've been killing people." Derek said from behind Stiles, obviously back on his feet to stand beside him. "You're going to stop."

"We aren't scared of you," The other twin laughed, his betas in the trees laughing along with him. "Some Alpha no one even knew **_existed_**."

"My name is Derek Hale." Derek said, and Stiles wanted to punch him, hit him for talking when Stiles was the one in control.

"I don't care." The man, the one who'd been very quiet as the twin talked, said. "Some backwoods bite doesn't make you an Alpha." He bared his teeth at Derek, and Stiles could feel his temper bubbling over. How dare this idiot threaten Derek?

"I could kill you without even breaking a sweat." Derek said, as Isaac, Boyd and Erica stalked out of the clearing. Stiles actually felt his heart beat faster at the sight of them, couldn't help the smile that he gave. Erica smiled back, weakly – but Isaac and Boyd were focused completely on Derek.

"I've been a werewolf since I was bitten as a teenager." The man laughed. "I am the oldest Alpha in the country."

Stiles snorted a laugh. "Idiot." He said, rolling his eyes.

"My name is Derek Hale." Derek said, "I'm 230 years old, and I was born a werewolf."

"Bullshit." One of the twins said.

"I can prove it."

* * *

Scott, Jackson and Lydia were running for the car.

"I fucking told you something was up with him." Jackson said, as Scott fumbled for his inhaler. "I fucking told you!"

Scott wheezed as they ran – mind still trying to process what they'd seen – what they'd heard.

Stiles was a werewolf? Stiles was a werewolf who was **_really_** into guys – or at least that one guy, going on the make-out session they'd witnessed. Oh, and his little brother was a werewolf.

A Werewolf.

With red eyes and long teeth and fucking claws and a werewolf!

They'd stayed for long enough to find out that Derek Hale had invited the other werewolves (fucking werewolves!) to his home in the woods. Which was probably where Stiles had been for the past month. Getting **_werewolved_**.

"We need to follow them!" Lydia said, from ahead of them. "Move it!"

"We," Scott gasped. "Aren't… following… anyone!" Scott tried to yell, but it came out on a laboured breath. "We're getting as far away from this as possible." **_Werewolves_**!

* * *

"What's your name?" The little girl asked Stiles as they drove through the trees. She was his, his own, his beta, and he felt unbelievably close to her already. She was dirty and thin, her black hair a mess of tangled twigs and mud.

"Stiles." He replied. "Stiles Hale."

The rest, Derek and the other Alphas were running ahead of the car, but Stiles had offered the ride to his betas. He didn't quite understand the relationship between them, but he felt… responsible. Protective.

"I'm Veva." She said, tucked into the leather seat, looking at the car like she'd never seen anything like it before. Stiles wondered just how 'wild' they were. "I'm 5 years old." She sounded proud of that.

"He doesn't care." The other girl, probably the same age as him, with the insane ginger hair that grew wilder than a Pixar princess, told the girl in the front seat. "Shut up, stop asking questions."

Stiles was still trying to patch together his broken memories, so many things happening at once. He could almost feel the way that Veva shrunk back into the leather, trying to remain as small as possible. "Ignore her." The red-head said. "She's omega."

"A lot of things are going on right now." Stiles told the little girl. "I've had a really, really long day." He glanced in the mirror at the redheaded girl. "What's your name?"

She seemed taken aback by the question, like no one ever asked her before. It took a few seconds before she answered. "Josephine." She said. "Jo."

"Right," He nodded. "And you?" The last passenger in the back was the larger man, older than Stiles by at least 10 years – but that didn't seem to change the way Stiles felt like he needed to protect him.

"Sam Colt." He replied. "This your car?"

"Yeah." Stiles said, before he remembered that the money he'd used to pay for it belonged to Derek. For some reason that made him angry, his temper just always bubbling to the surface. "So, Veva, Jo, Sam," He said. "I'm Stiles Stilinski. Hale." He added quickly. "Stiles Stilinski-Hale."

He wasn't expecting anything to happen, so when he drove past some unseen marker and his temper vanished, all the pent up rage in his shoulders just relaxing out, he let out a sigh. He started to recognise the trees, the boulders… had they passed the barrier?

"What the fuck was that?" Jo asked, leaning forward in the seat. "Did you feel that?"

"I feel nice." Veva said, smiling up at him as he drove. "Not mad at you."

"I felt something." Jo said, "What was that? Did you **_do_** something to us?"

"No." Stiles said. "It's… complicated. This is where Derek lives." Stiles replied, only to have the questions turn into stunned silences as the broke away from the trees and were suddenly driving up the gravelled driveway of the Hale mansion.

"Well fuck me sideways." Sam murmured as the house loomed into view.

* * *

It didn't take long to explain what was going on to the other Alphas, they took the news of the spell actually rather better than Stiles had expected. He told Jo as much.

"It's… weird." She said, looking around the dining room where Derek had decided to hold the 'meeting'. "But… it explains so many things. I mean… for the first time in years I feel… I feel like I used to feel. Human. Normal." She looked at him. "It was like being trapped inside, filled with hate and anger and a desperate need to lash out… and now… Nothing." She smiled. "I feel like I used to, before I was attacked."

They were standing a bit to one side as Derek talked to the Alphas and their Betas. Erica, Isaac and Boyd were answering as many questions as Derek, the room filled with the buzzing of voices. It seemed so strange to see so many people in the room – at least 25 if you included Stiles and his own… pack.

"What happened to you?" Stiles asked, handing Veva a glass of water without even thinking about it.

"She, Kali, the Alpha you killed, she attacked me. For fun I think." Jo shrugged. "I don't think she expected me to live, but I did." Her eyes shot around the room. "It made sence back then, you know? To stay with her. She was so pissed at everything – and when I woke up, all I wanted to do was kill. I could hardly even remember my life before her."

"It was like being reborn." Sam said, his voice deep. "I woke up… and I had no other choice. Stay and kill the people around me, or leave with Kali and try to… be part of something."

"And Veva?"

"We wanted her mother." Jo said, her voice tight. "We're not bad people," She insisted. "We just didn't know how to control it. Kali wanted her mom, but the bite didn't take, and she died – somewhere up north I think."

Stiles wracked his memories. The first murder had been reported in Vegas, a woman. "But Veva woke up after a while. She tried to attack us."

"Kali killed my mommy." The 5 year old stated. "And drew marks in her skin."

"The others didn't care so much." Jo said. "But Kali liked to **_play_**."

* * *

Hours passed, long talks between Derek and the other Alphas that Stiles didn't want to hear. The other Betas were wandering around aimlessly, as though they were waiting for some decision to be made.

Veva, small and too young to really understand what was going on, got bored and restless.

"Tell you what." Stiles said, holding out his arms for her without thinking and smiling when she let herself be lifted up. "Why don't we get you a bath, and something nice to wear?" He glanced around the room and saw Erica standing beside Boyd, not involved with the conversation at the table. "You see Erica over there?" He asked, smiling when Erica turned her head at the sound of her name. "Erica is the best at picking clothes, and I bet she's got loads of really nice stuff you could try on once you're all cleaned up."

Across the room, Erica smiled at Veva – her whole face lighting up at the idea. She walked over quickly, Boyd not that far behind her.

"Who is this, then?" She asked, holding out her arms for the very dirty little girl.

"This is Veva." Stiles supplied when she seemed to lose all ability to speak. "She's 5 years old and she needs a bath and something to wear."

"I'd kill for a shower." Jo supplied, and then half laughed. "I mean… you know… not really kill. Just… maim a little." She looked at her hands. "I didn't realise how filthy we were till we got here."

"I might have something to fit you," Boyd told Sam, "If you like."

* * *

A few hours later, Stiles was sitting in the room that he'd been using for the month that he'd been living with Derek – but this time he wasn't alone. Veva was sitting in the middle of his crossed legs playing with a doll that could almost pass as a direct double for her now that she was cleaned up.

Her skin was as pale as porcelain, eyes huge and blue, framed with thick black lashes. She had a mole under her eye that Erica called a beauty spot as she'd dressed her in the most ridiculous dress Stiles had ever seen – like something out of Pride and Prejudice – but that Veva had only stopped dancing around in when Erica handed her a white faced doll that wore something almost identical.

Her hair was poker straight and so black it seemed to shine blue in the lights, and Erica had tied the thin strands back into a braid to see if she might get wavy hair in the morning. She was leaning her back against Stiles chest as she played with her 'baby', talking quietly to the doll like it was the best thing she'd ever seen.

Erica hadn't let Veva out of her sight, and Stiles saw now just how much Erica missed the children that had been in her care all those years ago.

Boyd was sitting talking to Sam, the older man having a hard time believing that Boyd had been a slave when the spell had cut them off from the world. They were talking about the struggles and breakthroughs that they'd overcome personally and socially through the years – and Stiles wondered if having someone like Sam to talk to might show Boyd that he really wasn't any less than the other people in the house just because he was black.

Jo had gone with Erica and Veva, and had come back wearing a black pair of Erica's jeans and a white dress shirt that had belonged to Isaac that was a little too big for her. The shower had made a huge difference to her – Stiles saw that her skin was so covered with freckles that she looked almost tanned – and her green eyes were framed by almost invisible lashes. She was sitting at the mirror in his room now, with a bag of Erica's make-up and applying it carefully.

He had no idea where Isaac and Derek were, probably talking to the others. He figured it would take a while to go over all the questions that they had. For some reason, Jo and Sam didn't seem to care, they seemed more than happy to get washed and changed, and sit in his room.

Veva yawned, leaning back into his arms and snuggling down, and Stiles wasn't sure why, but he wanted to keep her there forever, safe in the circle of his arms.

* * *

Derek left the twins – they hadn't given their names and he hadn't asked – and Brad, the older Alpha, talking with the Betas and Omegas that made up their freaky pack.

As far as Derek knew, there was only ever one Alpha in a pack, but these people had banded together – held together by some weird bond that he couldn't quite explain.

And Stiles had left. Oh, Derek knew he was still somewhere in the house, he'd know if Stiles left – but he'd disappeared hours ago with his pack. His **_own_** pack.

He could smell the crisscrossing scents through the house, the child Omega who'd climbed up into Stiles arms like she belonged there, the older man and the teenager – back and forward, but all ultimately ending in Stiles part of the house.

He didn't knock, just pushed open the half shut door and stood there as the sight unfolded in front of him.

Stiles was asleep, holding the Omega in his arms like she was made of the same fine china as the doll in her arms. Erica was carefully applying mascara to the redheaded girl who was called something like Joe or Jess, and Boyd was talking in a low voice to the older Beta.

"Hey." Erica said, not turning her head from the painstaking task of whatever she was doing to the face of the redhead. "Need something?" she asked, before his entire attention was taken up by Stiles opening his eyes and looking directly at him.

"Erica, I'm going to put Veva in the bed next door," Stiles said, getting to his feet without disturbing the child in his arms at all. "Just for tonight. We'll get the nursery set up for her tomorrow."

He walked out of the room, brushing past Derek as he did – sending a shiver down Derek's spine – and glancing up at him through his lashes.

Derek was so fucked.

* * *

Stiles managed to get the door of the bedroom closed before Derek slammed his back against the hallway wall with enough force that he should have been fighting for air – but it seemed no more than an afterthought as Stiles grinned at him.

"Oh, dude, we are gonna have so much fun." He growled, pushing back with equal force, sending Derek backwards and following instantly until the older Alpha was pressed flat against the opposite wall, eyes glinting in the lights. "I'm gonna mark you up." Stiles whispered in his ear, before biting down and pulling on the fleshy lobe, teasingly. "Bite you back." He murmured, loving the feel of Derek's body responding to his threats. "Make you **_howl_**."

He felt Derek harden against his thigh, eyes flashing red in the reflected lights as he smirked. "I'm not going to be the only one howling." He promised, pressing his body closer to Stiles. "I'm the Alpha."

Stiles laughed softly, letting Derek bite at the skin on his neck, sharp nips that made Stiles shiver with need. "Oh, you might be **_the_** Alpha," He said, running a confident hand between their bodies, "But you're not **_my_** Alpha."

* * *

_**Happy Hump Day Wednesday!**_

_**Have a Chapter!**_

_**Stiles is an Alpha, Derek is an Alpha, lots and lots of Alphas… fa-la-la-la**_

_**Might need a couple more chapters before I wrap this up, because the next one is going to be pure smutty Alpha on alpha action. Be warned! If you have some deep, dark belief that being bottom makes you weak, that Derek is always top no matter what and Stiles is an ickle damsel in distress – you will not enjoy the next chapter.**_

_**I'm going to be doing (God, I wish I really was, rather than just writing it) top and bottom switches because…. Well, because I like it. So there.**_

_**Watched LARP and the Real Girl. Was AWESOME!**_

_**Love ya,**_

_**Robyn**_


	17. Chapter 17

The fact that the house was full of werewolves he didn't know, or trust, couldn't keep Derek from pushing Stiles hard against the wall and covering the younger boys body with his own. Rather than the soft, pliant sounds that Stiles had made before though, this time he growled back, the sound filling Derek's lungs as he kissed him hard – teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance as Stiles hands gripped his shoulders tightly, sharp nails pricking his skin through the grey Henley he wore.

Derek could feel the heat radiating from Stiles body even through the layers of fabric that separated them, the unashamed way Stiles rolled his denim covered hips into Derek's thigh, grinding and shuddering at the sensation. It dimly occurred to Derek that he would no longer need to be careful with every touch, that Stiles was no longer the fragile, pale boy he'd been when he had arrived. Now, Alpha of his own pack, he was equally as strong as Derek – Stiles suddenly decided to prove this point by pushing back against Derek with enough force that he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and unable to correct himself as Stiles surged forward, they landed in the middle of the hallway – Derek trapped under the hidden strength of a fresh Alpha werewolf.

Stiles was straddling Derek, rocking his hips down against Derek's own, and he was unable to help the growl that left his throat at the feel of Stiles denim covered cock rubbing over his.

"We need to take this to a bedroom." Stiles said, his voice tight and rough.

"Oh God, you really do!" Came a voice – obviously Erica – from behind one of the closed doors. "I'm already scarred for life."

Stiles laughed loudly, snorting at the words, but Derek felt the skin of his face heat up. Erica was his **_Beta_**, he should be acting more like a 230 year old Alpha and not a horny teenager, at least Stiles had the excuse of **_being_** a horny teenager.

"My room." Derek said, aware of how strained his voice was in the silence of the hallway. "It's far enough away from everyone."

* * *

Derek's room was dark, dingy and half in ruins – the only part of the house that his Betas hadn't been allowed to change through the years. There were no electric lights and no modern tchotchkes around the place – but Stiles didn't care. What he cared about was the bed – huge and ancient – looming in the darkness.

He could see everything clear enough without the lights, and he pushed Derek back towards the bed with a smirk. He felt amazing, better than he had before – better than he'd **_ever_** felt. The anger and blood lust that had followed him around, tainting his mood and actions was gone. Now, he felt completely in control, strong, powerful and focused. He knew what he wanted – and what he wanted was Derek.

When Derek's knees hit the wide of the mattress, he stopped moving completely – hands trying to hold Stiles at arm's length.

"No." Stiles grinned. "That's **_not_** what we're going to be doing."

"Stiles, you need to think about this." Derek said, but his pupils were blown and there was no mistaking the smell, dark and musky, that was surrounding him. "You've been through a lot recently." He finished, lamely, absolutely no conviction in his voice.

"True." Stiles said, pulling away slightly – loving the obvious disappointment that flew across the older man's face. "I should probably just go." He said, taking a step backward.

He didn't get much further, because despite the words that were coming out of his mouth, Derek obviously didn't want him to go anywhere – His hand shot out and grabbed one of Stiles wrists, pulling him fast and tight into the older Alphas body.

Stiles might have been a virgin, but he was a child of the internet – where porn was free and a curious mind could learn a lot from a long shower and a little self-exploration. He shoved Derek back, hard, and the older man sat down on the bed rather than fall over.

Quickly, before Derek could try another one of his obviously fake self-sacrificing moves, Stiles dropped to his knees and pulled the button out of the top of Derek's jeans. He'd seen a movie where the guy had managed to pull the zipper down with his teeth – fucking hot – but Derek (because nothing was ever easy for Stiles) favoured button flies.

"Wait!" Derek croaked, before Stiles gave up on trying to be sexy and simply pulled the fly apart, "Sto-"

He didn't get much further, because (**_holy shitballs_**) Derek wasn't wearing underwear and the moment Stiles hauled the material down, his cock, swollen and hard – came free, bobbing up against the material of the grey long sleeved tee Derek wore, leaving small damp patches on the thin cloth.

Messy handjobs in the bathroom of some club really didn't have anything on Derek looking down at him with an expression of shock and blatant need – Stiles leaned forward and licked a long stripe up the underside of Derek's cock.

It wasn't easy, because his jeans were only half down and Stiles couldn't get settled between his legs, and his cock slid left and right under the pressure of his tongue, but Derek actually let out a whimper, and that was good enough for Stiles. There was a thick vein that ran along the length of Derek's cock, throbbing and pulsing with every beat of Derek's heart. Stiles, almost forgetting that Derek was a person and not just an incredibly exciting biology lesson, ran the pad of his finger softly up the vein, ghosting a touch.

The skin was soft, hot and thin – and Stiles loved the way that a bead of moisture formed at the slit when his finger traced the thick vein. Using his other hand to pull Derek's jeans completely off (sending up a silent prayer that they'd kicked their shoes off before they'd even gotten to the bedroom door, he pushed the Alpha's knees apart and settled between them, eyes never leaving the leaking cock straining upwards, bobbing slightly with each breath Derek took.

"Been thinking about this a lot." Stiles admitted. "So many things I want to try."

Derek didn't say anything, but Stiles saw the way his balls twitched upwards, tighter into his body at his words, a hiss of breath passing his lips. "Don't know if I want to lick," He leaned forward, gently wrapping his hand around the thickness and licking a long stripe up the vein he'd traced, "Or if I want to suck," He leaned upwards, catching the tip and gently pulling it into his mouth. He wasn't expecting the slightly bitter taste on his tongue, or just how big Derek would feel in his mouth – pulling on his lips and resting heavily on his tongue as he sucked lightly. He wasn't sure if he was even doing it right as he pulled back, he'd not tried to take as much of Derek in his mouth as possible, just past the wide, swollen head – but the groan that passed Derek's lips as his head rolled back was a good enough sign that Stiles wasn't being **_too_** bad at it.

When he pulled his head back, Derek's cock came out of his mouth with an obscene 'pop' – a trail of saliva only broken when Stiles blew gently over the wet skin, causing Derek to jerk in surprise, hips bucking upward into Stiles hand. "Or if I want to climb over you and ride you till I can't even remember my own name." He was sitting between Derek's thighs, his cock and balls filling most of his vision, and as he talked, he carried on sliding his hand over the spit covered cock, using the leaking pre-cum that leaked liberally from the angry, swollen head, to keep his hand sliding smoothly.

Stiles own cock was hard and throbbing, still covered in his jeans. Right now though, he didn't want to think about that – what he wanted was to make Derek cum, make him whine with need and want – loose control like he'd done in the garden when he'd bitten too hard and changed Stiles life.

He leaned forward again, this time darting his tongue over the thin skin of Derek's balls, tight against his body. The skin was hot, slightly salty and musky on his tongue, and Derek's hips thrust forward into Stiles fist, a groan on his lips that vibrated through both of their bodies.

There was so much he wanted to do – his brain firing off ideas much faster than he was able to act on, snapshots of pornos he'd seen and liked, things he wanted to try, things he knew he needed to do…

Stiles let go of Derek's cock, pulling away and pushing Derek further onto the bed so that only his knees were hanging over the edge. He sent up a silent prayer thanking God for his sudden strength, because he was pretty sure Derek wouldn't let him do this otherwise.

He pushed the Alphas legs apart as he stood, and then pushed them forward, exposing the puckered hole of his ass. He could feel Derek try to push his legs back down – it obviously wasn't the most comfortable position in the world, cock pressed hard against his flat stomach, but Stiles held firm. Leaning forward, he bent down, pushing Derek's legs further up with the movement and swiping his tongue over the puckered entrance.

All the air in Derek's lungs seemed to leave him in a single breath, his thighs clenching under Stiles firm hands. "Stiles!" He hissed, trying to push up. Ignoring him, Stiles ran his tongue once again over the tight hole, this time swirling around the entrance before pushing slightly inside the Alphas body.

Derek jerked, but this time Stiles knew he wasn't trying to get away, not when his hand was suddenly tight in his short hair, holding him in place. "Fuck…" He groaned. "Fuck."

Stiles smiled against Derek's skin, knowing that the Alpha would be able to feel it, before repeating the action. The muscles in the back of his thighs twitched and jerked under Stiles hands as Stiles ruthlessly held him in place, pushing more and more of his tongue into Derek, his hole already slick with spit. "Stiles," Derek groaned, the hand in his hair trying to pull him away and failing as Stiles carried on teasing and tasting. "Stiles, seriously." Derek almost whined. And damn, just knowing that it was Stiles who had made him like that was enough to have his cock twitch in his jeans. "Lube in the cabinet!"

"Get it." Stiles all but growled, pulling away and trying not to think about what he was going to do, because he just knew he wasn't going to be lasting long at all if he started to picture what was about to happen.

There was an awkward moment when Derek went for the cabinet as Stiles stripped off his jeans and underwear, and Stiles remembered that he wasn't the only virgin in the room, but that was quickly pushed aside when Derek handed him the bottle – half empty with clear liquid.

"No condoms?" He asked, looking back at the drawer, fumbling with the lid. Derek paused, looking unsure.

"I don't have any." He said, "I don't think there are any in the house. No one's having sex."

"Well…" Stiles started, finally getting the damn lid off the bottle with his fumbling fingers. "I know I'm clean…" He said, feeling the blush over his face. Jesus, they were about to have sex and Stiles was blushing like a fucking girl at prom. Derek wasn't much better though, which was strangely comforting.

"I've never had sex with anyone." The older man said, looking at Stiles with a small frown. "So I think I'm clean too."

Stiles nodded, stepping forward – eliminating the space between their bodies. "If you want to wait…?" He asked, aware that if Derek nodded he might actually cry from frustration – but the Alpha just laughed tightly.

"I'm not into self-punishment." He said, grabbing the back of Stiles head and pulling him in for a searing kiss. Stiles groaned into the kiss, their cocks rubbing together as Derek walked them to the bed. "I want this." He said, reaching between their bodies and wrapping a hand around Stiles throbbing cock. It was the first time that night that Stiles had been touched, and he very nearly came all over Derek's hand at the strong, sure strokes as he pumped Stiles cock.

There were so many things Stiles wanted to do, so many ways he wanted to fuck Derek that for a moment he just stood there, rocking with each pump of his cock, until something in his mind snapped. "Stop." He commanded, pushing Derek onto the bed and following him until they were both settled in the centre – Stiles leaning over Derek's body, their cocks gently bobbing against skin and leaking pre-cum over each other.

Stiles flipped the lid of the bottle of lube in his hand open and was about to liberally coat his fingers when Derek stopped him.

"I'm a werewolf." He said, taking the bottle and coating his own hand, before wrapping his wet fist around Stiles cock and covering it in the smooth liquid. "You can't hurt me like this." He said, as Stiles shuddered at the sensation through his body – the liquid was cold on his super-heated skin, but quickly became warm as Derek slid his fist around Stiles cock. "Get to the main event."

Stiles managed a stuttered nod as he pulled back, hands pushing under Derek's knees and lifting them towards his chest. Derek pushed the slippery bottle into his hands and lay back against the bed as Stiles added more of the clear liquid to his cock, well aware that he wasn't going to be able to last long at all – not with Derek laying there like that – presented like some fucking prize. He used his lubed finger to apply some to the spit wet opening of Derek's ass, both of them groaning at the same time as he pushed a single finger inside. He could feel Derek's muscles around his digit, tight and warm as he gently slid in and out, lost in the sight of it.

The older Alpha growled as Stiles pulled out, grabbing his cock and pushing the flat head against the puckered hole. For a moment, he wasn't sure if it was going to work – surely they needed more lube, more preparation – hell any prep would be better, but then Derek growled, low and urgent.

Stiles had always thought he'd be a decent guy in the sack, making sure that the other guy came first, and not being a total jerk – but at the sound of Derek's growl, he slammed forward – pushing hard and fast inside the Alpha until he was completely sheathed inside him – the tight ring of muscle flexing around the very base of Stiles cock.

Derek roared, hands large and nails pointed, digging into the mattress. His eyes were tightly shut, but Stiles just knew if he opened them they'd be red.

The feeling was… intense. Stiles had only ever jerked off (or been jerked off) before – he'd never had sex and he'd always assumed he'd be the one getting fucked – nothing prepared him for the feeling of heat and… damn.

He could hear a growl, low and deep – it took him a few moments to realise that it was him. He glanced down at his hands and saw that where he gripped tightly to Derek's knees, keeping him pushed back, his nails were sharp and fingers elongated.

"Move." Derek groaned, voice tight.

Stiles had no restraint. He pulled back a few inches and then canted his hips forward, filling Derek again. The air was punched out of Derek's lungs, the position wasn't the best for him, curled up with his knees on his chest, but Stiles couldn't think about that as he pulled back again, groaning at the feeling. He wasn't going to last much longer, he knew that, but he wasn't able to think – wasn't able to do anything but keep moving, each thrust erratic and frenzied.

His orgasm hit him out of the blue – ripping a howl from his lips as he blindly thrust, nails digging deeply into the back of Derek's knees as he rode out the waves of feeling.

He was still shaking from the sensation when Derek pushed his knees back, forcing Stiles out of him and bonelessly onto the bed, his cock covered with his own cum and the sticky lube.

He could see that Derek hadn't orgasmed, his cock still hard and throbbing as he sat up, red eyes fixed on Stiles. "Sorry man." Stiles managed to say, his voice broken. "I couldn't… fuck." He groaned. "Sorry."

Derek didn't say anything, just grabbed the bottle of lube, forgotten on the bed beside them, and slid off the bed.

Derek grabbed his lifeless body and suddenly Stiles found himself face down on the mattress, pulled backwards until his legs were dangling off the end. The suddenness had him gasping, and then – despite the fact he'd only just shot his load inside of Derek Hale (Holy shit, he'd actually had sex with Derek!) his cock gave a twitch, becoming semi hard as Derek ran a wet, lubed finger between his asscheeks. "Fuck!" He groaned, pushing his hips back, his cock twitching on the mattress. "Jesus, fuck." He growled, as Derek pushed a long finger against and inside of his hole, stretching with every shallow thrust. It didn't hurt, a slight burn at first that Stiles found he actually enjoyed, pushing back. "More." He growled, aware that his teeth were sharp and his voice was low. "Now. More." He groaned.

Derek pushed another finger inside – and that precious burn only lasted a few seconds, not long enough for Stiles to savour the ache. "I'm not made of fucking glass." He snapped. "More!"

Derek pulled back, pulled away, and the next thing Stiles knew, the head of Derek cock was pressing against his hole. Much thicker than the two fingers that he'd been using, Stiles felt the sharp pull of his skin and the dull pressure – before Derek jerked forward.

Stiles let out a howl at the pain, delicious and searing – sharp teeth biting down as his body stretched and gave way. The burn made him feel alive, he was dimly aware that he was snarling and growling as Derek pulled back, his body clenched, trying to keep the Alpha inside.

When Derek slammed forward, Stiles couldn't help the sounds he made a whimper and a growl combined. His cock, now hard and leaking despite only having just cum, pressed hard into the mattress as he pushed back, matching each of Derek's hard thrusts with one of his own – friction of the sheets and the still sticky lube not enough to get him off.

Derek thrust hard and fast, holding onto Stiles hips with enough force to bruise – sharp nails biting into the thin skin on his hips. Soon, much sooner that Stiles would have liked, Derek let out a howl – Stiles could imagine what he looked like: Head thrown back, the corded muscles of his neck standing out as he stood, feet braced on the carpet, thrusting blindly as he filled Stiles completely, Stiles' cum leaking out of his ass as his own cum shot inside of the younger Alpha, begging for more.

* * *

Stiles was covered in sweat and lube, with dried flakes of their mixed semen on his skin when he opened his eyes and saw the bright light streaming through the uncovered windows.

He wasn't sure what woke him at first, he was pretty sure that he should still be asleep after the marathon of sex he'd been through – who knew that werewolf powers came with no refractory period and unlimited stamina. He was pretty sure he'd never leave the bed, because the first time had been quick and the second time had been rushed, but by the time they'd worked out what worked and what didn't, Stiles had cum four times and Derek 5, they were slick with spit, sweat and sex, and Stiles managed to hit Derek's prostate – he knew he'd never willingly leave the bed. Or Derek. Ever.

But something had woken him, and judging by the bone weariness he was feeling, it wasn't him just waking up on his own.

Then he heard it.

Veva was crying, somewhere in the house, a small, whimpering sound that cut through him like a knife. He swung up, pushing Derek – who was half laying on top of him – to one side with a grunt, the other Alpha not even batting an eyelid.

His clothes were ruined, scattered around the floor – his shirt was covered in lube and cum, a vain attempt to clean them both off at one point that they'd abandoned for more sex, but his jeans were okay aside from the slightly damp patch at the crotch. He pulled them on quickly as the sound of Veva crying became all he could hear, a broken whimper that clenched around his heart like a vice.

He left Derek on the bed and ran towards the other side of the house, aware that everyone else was still sleeping soundly. The room next door to his own was closed, and he pushed it open as quietly as he could.

Veva was awake, sitting in the middle of the huge bed where he'd left her the night before, her eyes rimmed with red and unshed tears as her bottom lip trembled and shook.

"Affa?" She asked, holding out her thin, pale arms to him, a tear slipping past her dark lashes and running down her cheek.

"Hey, Veva." He said, walking over to her and lifting her with ease, horribly aware of the filth that covered his skin.

"I had a dream and I didn't know where I was." She said, now crying in earnest. "I can't find my baby doll." She paused, backhanding her tears and snot away, smearing her face. "You smell funny."

* * *

Stiles had a shower in his own room while Vava sat on the bathroom floor and played with her doll. Stiles had wanted her to stay in the room, but her bottom lip trembled and he caved in faster than the speed of light. She seemed completely unconcerned with him though, her entire focus on the doll.

"Veva, can you go get me a pair of jeans and a shirt?" He asked, popping his head around the frosted glass partition when he finally managed to get the mess of the night before off his skin.

"Yes!" She cried, getting to her feet and running out of the room, doll hanging from her hand. He killed the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around himself quickly – he really didn't want Veva asking questions about the difference between boys and girls.

He could hear others starting to move around, the sounds filtered through hallways and doors. "Veva," He called, walking through to his room, finding her standing holding two shirts like her life depended on the choice, "Why did I hear you so well when you were crying?"

"I wasn't crying!" She said, spinning around. "I wasn't!"

"When you woke up then?" He said, pointing to the green shirt, heading off an argument before it started. "I heard you really well, but I can't hear anyone else so good."

"Oh, that's cause you're the Alpha, silly!" She laughed, "And Affas hear kids real good cause they gotta be protected."

"Okay, short stack." He said as she rolled her eyes at him. "This Alpha can hear your belly rumbling for all the way over here too. How about we go make some breakfast?"

"We gonna have regular food again, or do we have to go hunting?"

Stiles didn't want to think about the hunting part. Werewolf or not, he wasn't about to give up 'regular food' for something he killed in the damn woods. "We're going to have normal food," He said, firmly. "I'm pretty sure I can whip us up something to stop that rumbling." He grinned. "Go wash your hands and your face while I get dressed, and we'll see what we can do."

As she skipped through to the bathroom, Stiles wondered at just how easy it was to fall into this domesticated life, he had a kid, for fuck sake – and she was his, he couldn't think of anyone taking her away, or giving her up. He stood for a moment just watching her running the water into the basin before he shook his head and started to get dressed.

* * *

Lydia stood and stared at the two boys in front of the Stilinski house and glared. "What do you mean, you don't know what I'm talking about?" She snapped, looking at Jackson and then Scott. "How can you not **_remember_**?"

* * *

Stiles was sitting at the dining room table eating his plate of bacon and eggs with Veva perched on his knee when Sam and Jo walked in. They looked completely different in the morning light, clean and dressed in hand-me-down clothes from Erica and Boyd.

"Morning." He said, pointing to the huge pile of food he'd brought through. "We got a bit carried away with the pig."

"Stiles made me bacons and eggs." Veva said, her mouth full. "But you can have some too."

"Sleep well?" Stiles asked, aware that they looked a little uneasy, eyes darting towards the food and back to him. "You not hungry?"

"Gotta let the alpha eat first." Veva said, mouth full. "But it's okay, cause Stiles don't care about that."

"God, if you wait for me to finish you'll never get fed." Stiles laughed, "Pull up a chair and fill up a plate. For real," He laughed. "You'll starve waiting on me to finish. I've never been so hungry in my life."

"Erica said that the spell means people forget about you when you're here." Jo said, sitting down beside Stiles and reaching gingerly for a plate. "She said people outside don't know nothing about this place."

"Nope." Stiles said, shaking his head.

"Can we stay?" Sam asked, sitting on the other Side of Stiles. He felt like he was being flanked. "We want to stay here."

"We did a lot of horrible things." Jo said, "Out there. I don't want to go back to that. I feel like myself here." She looked at Sam. "We feel like real people."

* * *

Lydia was pissed. So seriously pissed at the world, her boyfriend and anything on two legs. No one remembered. She spent hours trying to convince Jackson and Scott the last time and she wasn't going to waste precious time trying to do it all over again. She checked her phone GPS and grinned. She wasn't a genius for nothing, a few quick seconds on a computer and she had the GPS of the black Camaro plugged into her phone – she was going to find out what was going on once and for all.

* * *

Derek woke up slowly, becoming aware of things one at a time rather than in a great rush. He was awake he was aching, there was light shining brightly through the uncovered windows, hot on his skin – which was tight and uncomfortable in patches – he was alone, and all he could smell was Stiles. Everywhere.

He could hear Erica and Isaac hissing at each other on the other side of the house, arguing again, but what had him snapping upright was the smell of the other Alphas.

He wasn't able to grab his clothes and leave his rooms though, because his skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat and worse – he cursed the fact that he never let Boyd and Isaac update this part of the house. Hot running water would be ideal. He grabbed some clean clothes and padded barefoot to the first room with a shower and hastily scrubbed till he was sure nothing remained – hauling on his clothes over his still damp skin.

He could hear Stiles laughing, muffled slightly by the distance and the floor between them, when he reached the top of the wide staircase, only to stop in his tracks when he saw the twin Alphas and the other, Silent man, standing at the foot of the stairs.

"We're leaving." One of the twins called up.

"With Kali gone, we're not staying here."

"We're going back to our own territory." The twins spoke in short bursts, easily finishing each other's sentences.

"You'll kill again." Derek said, walking slowly down the stairs. "I can't let you leave."

The silent Alpha shrugged, looking at Derek with hard eyes. "Kali brought us here, Kali urged us to kill. Without her, we'll go back to how it was before."

"We don't want to stay."

"You can't make us."

* * *

Stiles was watching as Erica and Isaac walked through the doors to the dining room, Isaac looking completely affronted and Erica looking like she wanted to punch something. "I made breakfast!" Stiles called, waving at the food. There wasn't that much left. He'd underestimated how much 3 werewolves and a horny Alpha could eat.

"The other packs have left." Isaac said, leaning over and grabbing a rasher of bacon with his fingers. "As far as I could tell, Derek isn't happy."

"Can they do that, just leave?" Stiles asked, handing Veva the last of his bacon.

"Well, apparently so." Isaac shrugged, Derek's checking the grounds, making sure they didn't decide to change their minds, but yeah, they're gone."

"We're staying." Stiles said, resting his chin on the top of Veva's head. "I remember how it felt, out there." He nodded at the door. "How angry I was. And how the hell do I explain this – he waved a hand over his body. "To my brothers – even if they do remember me, I'm 17 with a 5 year old kid and a nasty habit of wanting to kill things." He glanced at Isaac. "If Derek'll let us, of course." He added, hoping he sounded meek and not as cocky as he felt, because he **_knew_** Derek would let them stay. Erica snorted. Yeah, maybe he'd sounded a little cocky.

* * *

Stiles was seriously resisting the urge to hand Veva to Sam and crawl into Derek's lap. He was sitting eating – Boyd had brought more food through (after lecturing Stiles for the better part of an hour about how he never, ever wanted either him, or Veva, in his kitchen again) and was now chatting away to Sam as they ate. Jo, Erica and Isaac were discussing the house and the grounds and Stiles was seriously trying not to jump on Derek and lick him all over.

They were so close that Stiles could feel the heat coming off his body, their knees knocking together as Derek leaned forward, eating like a man starved. No one mentioned the marks on their bodies, probably – Stiles realised – because they had all heard what was going on the night before. He couldn't find it in him to care.

He heard an engine, and wheels on the drive, about the same time that Derek's head snapped up from his plate. Stiles was sure the way they cocked their heads at the same time would have been highly amusing if things were different, but right now – someone was driving towards the house.

The house that no one was supposed to know about.

* * *

Lydia wasn't sure what she was expecting – a cabin in the woods, maybe, but not this. Not a fucking mansion in the middle of nowhere. She slammed on the breaks and got out of the car, walking with purpose towards the doors. Sure enough, there was the car – the sleek black coupe that Stiles had bought, sitting right beside another, slightly older model of the same car. No memory her ass, he obviously remembered the car well enough to buy an almost exact replica for himself.

The doors were open, which she should have found odd – but then, she was running on caffeine and adrenaline since the night before and at this point, having seen her boyfriend's brother kill a monster with his bare hands and then turn into a monster himself… yeah, nothing could seem that odd to her.

She walked boldly through the doors, eyes squinting as she adjusted from the bright daylight outside to the dimness of the massive hallway.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Stiles asked, suddenly there – standing in front of her with some of the people she could remember from the night before.

"Stiles Stilinski, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do!" She snapped. "Starting now!"

* * *

**_Happy TGI Friday!_**

**_Sorry you didn't get a chapter last night, I was run off my feet after work and only had half a chapter to give you – so you get 4k today instead of 2k. _**

**_Did another 6 mile walk last night and I'm doing another 6 tonight, so starting to feel a little like 'this is really happening' now!_**

**_Doing 8 miles at the weekend – so kinda torn between really looking forward to it, and not looking forward to it at all!_**

**_Probably one more chapter to go, maybe 2 if I have the time. Work is really picking up and I think I'm going to need all the time I have here to actually do my job and not write fanfic! Quite a shock to the system. _**

**_Well, better get going, hope you all have a good weekend and I'll see you on Monday!_**

**_Hugs_**

- **_Robyn!_**


	18. Chapter 18

"How can you even remember me?" Stiles asked, sitting on one of the large sofas in the library, Veva tucked up on his knee and glaring at Lydia with a fierce expression on her little face.

"I don't know!" Lydia snapped. She was pacing back and forth on the rug in front of the roaring fire – just like she'd been doing for the past hour and Stiles explained about the spell, and the bite. "But this morning Jackson and Scott don't remember a thing about last night and I think I'm going crazy." She pointed a finger at Stiles. "This is your fault."

Veva snarled, snapping her little pointed teeth at Lydia's extended finger. Stiles flicked her ear playfully. "Stop it." He chided. "She's aloud to be angry."

"Damn right I am!" Lydia said, resuming her pacing. "My boyfriend's brother is a werewolf. Seventeen and Shacked up! With red eyes and teeth and a kid! A **_baby_**!" She looked at Veva. "A **_cute_** kid, but still… Stiles, you're **_seventeen_**!"

"I know-"

"No, you don't." She cut him off. "You don't know. You've never been outside of Beacon Hills. You've never been to college, or gone to Paris, or had a **_life_** – and now you want to stay here? Be a **_dad_**? At seventeen?"

"I don't have any other option, Lydia." Stiles said, feeling spookily calm in the face of her very relevant points. "If I leave… what? I go mad? I really, **_really_**, wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to kill Scott – and all he was doing was getting in my way!" He glanced over at Jo and Sam, who were standing over at the window and hadn't moved since Lydia arrived. For some reason Stiles felt that they were distancing themselves from him, and he didn't like it. "What about the fact that no one remembers me? I can't go back to school – do you what it would feel like if your mom and dad didn't even remember you? Seeing them all the time and not being able to do anything about it? So you want me to leave town? And do what? And what about Veva? And Jo? And Sam? I'd have to take them with me. How the hell am I supposed to explain that their **_mine_**?" He looked at Lydia. "It sound great when you say 'come home' but you aren't thinking this through. I don't **_have_** a home to go back to!"

Lydia stopped in her tracks and glared. "I see you've made up your mind. You obviously don't care about the people you are leaving behind."

Stiles wasn't sure how it happened, but one moment he was sitting the couch with Veva on his lap, and the next he was holding the ginger princess up by her neck, snarling.

"Don't you ever, ever think I don't care!" He snapped, words slightly slurred by his elongated teeth. "Don't you fucking dare! You think I didn't sit there every day and watch my family go about like I never existed? Watch them eat dinner and watch TV and go on like nothing was wrong?" He growled, tossing her easily across the room, where she landed in an undignified heap. "Get the fuck out of my house."

* * *

Six hours later, Stiles was still throbbing with anger, so much so that even Veva had decided to leave him alone – stalking the gardens and growling under his breath. Who the hell did she think she was, saying Stiles didn't care? Didn't care about his mom and his dad – or his brothers?

She had no fucking clue what it felt like to see them, through the mirror, getting on with their lives like he'd never existed. It wasn't even like they thought he'd died, they weren't mourning him. They didn't even know his name. As far as his parents knew, they had two boys, and Stiles was… well… he just wasn't. Ever. How could he go back and see them?

Would he walk past his dad and have him say 'Have a nice day' like he did to the people in the town who he couldn't quite place. Faces without names. He didn't think he could cope with that blank look – not from his **_dad_**.

He growled at nothing and swiped at an innocent rosebush, watching as the soft yellow petals floated through the air, landing on the path on front of his feet. A lazy bee buzzed around his head, annoyed at being disturbed but too drunk on nectar to fly straight. For some reason, watching the bee, fat and uncoordinated try to land on the still swaying buds of the rosebush made him smile.

He couldn't go home.

But it wasn't bad here. Not with Derek.

"At least you're smiling now." Sam's voice drifted from in front of him. Stiles looked up from his study of the honeybee and saw Sam walking down the path. The fallen petals crushed under his feet. "Decided what you're going to do then?"

There was no point in pretending that Stiles didn't know what Sam was talking about. "Yes." He nodded. "I'm staying here. I've got nowhere else to go – and I wouldn't be able to stay sane out there. It's hard enough to keep my temper here."

All the tension seemed to leave the larger man's body, like he had been bracing himself for bad news. "I've gotta say, I'm glad." He admitted. "Jo an I didn't know how to tell ya, but we wanted to stay here. Keep safe." He leaned forward a little, "You might wanna talk to her."

* * *

Two days after Stiles let his pack know that they weren't leaving, Isaac was sitting in the hidden staircase that no one else used anymore. With the house fuller – who knew that 3 people and a 5 year old could take up so much damn room? – he'd resorted to that same hiding place where he'd kissed Sarah Hale, the same place he'd planned to elope with her.

He'd changed a few things, the first couple of years he'd treated the place more like a shrine than an abandoned staircase, but as the years went on he added a few things. There was electric lighting now, and a plush carpet on the wooden stairs. He sat there now, a book held loosely in his long fingers, thinking about the changes that had happened.

Stiles had started it all, and Isaac couldn't even start to think how much Veva would disrupt the house – he remembered that children were loud and messy, despite Erica's assurances that he'd hardly notice her. Sam – well… Sam looked like he was going to be spending a lot of time with Boyd, which was great news because last night he was pretty sure he heard Erica and Boyd alone. **_Together_**. Stiles and Derek weren't the only people in the house getting some action, then.

But then… then there was Jo. Angry and sullen, with about as much sense of decency in her clothing as Erica – he didn't care about what Erica said about times changing, he was always going to think women belonged in dresses and bonnets – and a nasty habit of showing up in the library just when he'd gotten himself settled down to read.

Which was why he'd retreated here, away from them all. Away from Erica spoiling that kid rotten, and Derek and Stiles trying to break the world record for 'most sex in a 24 hour period', Boyd and Sam in the kitchen – and Jo. Mostly, he just wanted to stay away from Jo.

* * *

"He's got a fucking problem with me." Jo snapped at him, and Stiles wasn't sure how to go about soothing her temper. He'd not been out of the bedroom much since Lydia left and had no idea if Isaac had an issue with her at all. "He won't even be in the same room as me." She said, glaring at Stiles like this was his problem.

"He likes his own space." Stiles said. They were sitting in the long, clear stretch of grass between the house and the tree line. Erica was sitting with Veva – they were both drawing a bowl of fruit… well, Erica was drawing a bowl of fruit, and Veva was making a mess. Stiles wasn't sure how that was teaching, but Erica told him that all young ladies should draw, dance and understand the delicacies of polite conversation (what Veva was going to do with **_that_** Stiles wasn't sure) but he was leaving her to it. It made her happy, and if it made Erica happy, it made Derek happy – and if it made Derek happy, he made Stiles **_very_** happy.

Jo glared. "He hates me, he won't even look at me. I don't even know why."

Derek, who'd been watching Erica with what was almost a soft expression, gave a small huff. "He probably doesn't know why either." He said, glancing at the redhead. "Took me a few days to figure it out."

Both Stiles and Jo turned to glare at the Alpha. "You knew something was going on?" Stiles said, around the same time Jo burst out with: "Then what's his problem?"

Derek leaned back and let out a sigh. "Your scent is… similar… to someone who lived here a long time ago." Derek shrugged. "My cousin. It's not the same, of course, but I suppose to a human it would smell almost the same."

"He's not human."

"He was when she was here." Derek said. "They were having an affair – a pretty serious one, if I remember. I was only a kid at the time, but I think they had planned to leave together." At their expressions, he shrugged. "They were both human – and completely unaware of how scenting worked beck then. You can't hide that kind of thing from a house full of werewolves." He looked over at Veva and Erica. "It was a long time ago, and his human memory of her scent might be confusing his wolf."

"He thinks I'm his dead girlfriend?"

"No." Derek said, with a frown. "but he might not be happy with someone new arriving reminding him of her, subconsciously." He shot Jo a quick look. "It took him a long time to let her go, try to understand."

* * *

Stiles was sitting in the library, still getting tutored by Isaac – who had refused to listen to his arguments that he'd never need to learn this crap any more – when he heard the car pull up outside.

This time, rather than immediately marching into the house, he could her the tiny redhead walk around her parked car, feet crunching on the gravel.

"Are you going to stand there or are you going to help?" She snapped at someone – going on the growl that Stiles heard – Derek.

Stiles got to his feet and walked towards the door, thrown open to let the warm summer air come through the large house. By the time he got to the door, everyone was there – looking at him expectantly.

"Hello Lydia." He said, watching as she pulled bag upon bag out of the small car.

"Hello Stiles." She said, pointing at the bags. "Jackson had a clear out of all his 'old' things. I managed to take everything in the house that belonged to you. I'm not sure if you want them or not." She pointed at one of the boxes. "Just crap from your room, pictures, comics… that kind of thing. I also got your medical records and school files." Lydia paused, then looked around at the house. "I'm the only one who can remember you, and I'm not going to let the fact that we had a fight get in the way of our friendship."

"Is this an apology?"

"I'd rather rip my own arm off." Lydia said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Stiles couldn't help his laugh.

* * *

Two weeks after Lydia arrived with the contents of Stiles old room, Stiles, Sam and Derek took on the task of building Veva a tree house, while she sat imperiously and watched them. Their first attempts were clumsy and dangerously fragile, until Isaac appeared with a roll of paper and a ruler. Three hours later, Erica, Boyd and Jo appeared, and started putting forward their own suggestions.

Jo and Isaac got into a fight almost immediately and needed to be separated when she leapt through the air and tried to rip his throat out.

* * *

Lydia came once a week, normally on a Tuesday when Stiles knew Jackson had lacrosse practice. She mostly came for the library, and to talk to Stiles. Veva didn't like her.

* * *

A month after the tree house was complete, Isaac and Jo got into an **_actual_** fight that resulted in two suits of armour being smashed across the wide hallway, a priceless vase thrown at a head and hitting the wall , and more broken bones than Stiles had ever seen in his life.

* * *

Three months after Jo stopped limping and Isaac was able to talk without his jaw popping unpleasantly, Erica and Boyd moved their things into a twin room.

* * *

Two days after that, while Veva was refusing to learn her letters and numbers with Erica by locking herself in a toy chest and swallowing the key – resulting in Derek, Stiles, Erica and Boyd trying to work out how to smash open a solid oak chest without hurting the screaming werechild inside – Isaac and Jo got into another fight.

This time, without their Alpha's pulling them apart, they kept throwing punches until they couldn't.

* * *

Derek looked over at where Veva was playing with Sam and Boyd, being swung high into the air and screaming for more. Somewhere in the house, Erica was humming to herself happily, although they hadn't exactly told anyone, her scent was already starting to shift – pregnancy hormones kicking in. Stiles was clothes shopping – Derek really needed to stop ripping apart the ones he had left – with Lydia, who'd become an almost daily visitor.

He heard the raised voices, distantly, probably from some part of the house facing away from the green gardens. At first he thought that Jo and Isaac were fighting again, but then the pitch changed and… **_Ah_**.

He smiled in the sunshine, listening to the sound of his pack around him, aware that his mate would be back soon. Although the curse wasn't broken, he couldn't help but feel like he'd beaten it.

Who says you can't live happily ever after?

* * *

**_The End. _**

**_It's take me far too long to write this, the first time I've EVER struggled like this with writing. _**

**_I'm going to take a break – a few weeks at least – and just let my brain recharge. _**

**_Training for the Moonwalk has kicked up a gear and I'm mostly just exhausted now – we're walking in 8 mile stretches with 10 miles this weekend. Combined with work being really busy, I feel like I've got no time AT ALL to write anymore, and it's become a chore. Which is not fun!_**

**_I'll see you all when I get back to writing!_**

**_Love ya, and thanks for all your support with this story and my others!_**

- **_Robyn_**


End file.
